Dream World: Book I
by TimeSpace64
Summary: The Monkees have lived their lives getting into trouble without meaning to. However, when a gypsy warns them about the three trials to come, will the Monkees survive? (Book 1 of 3) In this part, the Monkees must complete the trial in which they visit the future and return the book to its rightful owner. Disclaimer: I do not own the Monkees, any music, or any of the characters.
1. Chapter 1- The Gypsy

Chapter 1- The Gypsy

It began as just another typical day for the Monkees. The only difference was that they all looked like a bunch of carnies, all for a payment of five-hundred dollars. Clad in their barbershop quartet attire, they trudged through the carnival, looking for somewhere to relax till their tenth performance that day. Each Monkee had their stripe jackets slung over their shoulders and their button down shirt sleeves rolled up. Mike had shoved his green wool hat in his jacket pocket for safekeeping. It was too hot to wear it today. Davy's bowtie was untied and dangling around his neck. Micky, Peter, and Davy all wore their straw hats on their heads, hoping it would provide more comfort.

"How come they let you wear _that?"_ Micky complained, pointing at Mike's wool hat.

"Do you think I _wanted_ to wear it, today? I've been dying in it! Besides, you were there when they told me I had to," Mike grumbled.

"Oh yeah, I forgot," Micky apologized, tripping over a rock, but regaining his balance before he could fall face first in the dry dirt.

They continued in silence for a little while, wandering. They had no money to buy food, the owner of the carnival did not offer them free food for their services and refused to pay them till the end. All they could do was wander helplessly in the heat. There was no ideal shady spot on the entire lot that could quench their desire for relief.

"I'm going to die out here," Micky complained, wiping a sea of sweat off his forehead.

"I can't believe they're making us wear these ridiculous outfits! Can't they see it's an oven out here! Their employees can wears shorts and a t-shirt, but NO! The musicians have to die playing the part. Why did we sign up for this job, anyway?" Davy shouted.

"Five-hundred dollars and Mr. Babbitt's constant complaining that we are behind on rent," Mike answered, wiping sweat from his brow as well.

"How can this day get any worse?" Peter moaned. "This might just be the last gig we ever play."

"I agree," Micky moaned. "We need to stop somewhere, _anywhere,_ and cool off."

"What about the gypsy tent?" Davy suggested, pointing to a mysterious and untrusting tent not too far ahead of them.

"The _gypsy_ tent?" Micky asked, shaking his head. All four men shivered at the memory of their last encounter with gypsies, an encounter that almost lost them not only Peter, but their lives as well. After that ordeal, they all promised not to get into any other deals with gypsies again. If they walked into that tent, there would be no doubt that something comical or cincial would happen to them.

"You did say anywhere, Micky." Davy sighed. "I don't like the idea as much as you guys, but there really isn't anywhere else with proper shade to rest."

"Without getting in trouble by our bosses, you mean?" Mike added on.

"Exactly. So it's the tent or we die out here." The four Monkees silently considered the proposition. As if in agreement, they all headed towards the tent. Each Monkee had their feeling of unease as they stepped inside the tent, but they were suddenly refreshed by the sudden coolness that overcame them. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.

"Welcome musicians," An oddly young gypsy woman said, gesturing towards the pillows that sat in front of a small table. The tent was dim, the only form of light coming from the candles and where the ground met the tent. The gypsy herself was illuminated by the candles. She looked like a typical gypsy, her fiery red hair accesorised by threads, bandanas, and beads. She wore a colorful dress with rags hanging off. She had golden eyes that complimented an almost perfect face. If the tent's attire didn't scare the Monkees, her attire did.

"Isn't it a little dangerous to have candles lit in a tent?" Peter asked. None of the Monkees sat down.

"Not here," The gypsy said. "Never in here. Please, sit. We have a lot to talk about."

The four Monkees looked at each other, very nervous and confused. "What is there to talk about?" Mike asked, folding his arms. "We just came in here to cool down."

"Please, I beg you," The gypsy said, gesturing the pillows once more. "I'm aware of your long and vigorous journey, you must be tired."

"You mean the journey from the stage to this tent?" Micky asked, moving a finger from the direction of the stage to the ground he stood on.

"You're funny," The gypsy laughed. "If you would like to play with the idea, then sure. I refer to your journey from the stage to my tent." She said this with a hit of playful sarcasm. None of the Monkees moved.

The woman gave another gesture towards the pillows, her eyes begging for cooperation. Reluctantly, they all sat down. When each man was settled, she smiled. "There, now that wasn't so hard, was it?"

"Actually," Micky began, rubbing his hip. "My hip hurts a little bit."

"Does it?" The gypsy asked, concerned. "You must be the first to wake, then."

"Actually Mike's the first up in the mornings," Micky argued.

"Have you had any hip injuries in your past?" The gypsy asked, as if trying to confirm her own suspicions.

"Not that I'm aware of. However I do have bruises that show up all over my body every now and then."

"That happens to everyone, Mick," Davy interrupted.

The gypsy waved it off. "Right, your future. Do you wish to hear it? The information I need to give you will be very beneficial to you if you wish to survive. Of course, the choice to hear it is optional."

"Well, you got us to sit down, so why not?" Mike concluded, obviously bored.

The gypsy smiled. She laid her hands flat on the table and looked at each Monkee in turn.

"Aren't you going to use a crystal ball or something?" Davy asked.

The gypsy shook her head. "I know the future of you four Monkees well and clear, but I can only go so far. The four of you must endure three trials."

"Trials?" Peter asked, concerned.

"One trial in the past, one trial in the present, and one trial in the future," The gypsy continued, ignoring Peter's outburst. "Not exactly in that order, though. In the future, you must return the book to where it belongs."

"And where does it belong?" Micky asked.

"With it's owner, duh." The gypsy rolled her eyes, silently hoping these boys would be able to solve each trial.

"And what book?" Mike asked, slightly annoyed at the vague challenges.

"You'll discover soon enough, Michael." The gypsy smiled at Mike's surprise that she knew his name.

"And the other two trials?" Davy asked.

"In the present, you must _be the change._ " She paused to let that settle in, waiting for them to question the statement. When there was no objection, she continued. "In the past, you must make a terrible decision. Whatever choice you choose will determine the rest of your lives."

This time Mike scoffed. "What terrible decision? The only terrible decision I see here is the one we made walking into this tent!" Mike stood. "What's so important about these trials, huh? Why does it matter to us? You're just a fortune teller, nothing more. You're a scam to get people to give you money."

"And I'm doing this for free," The gypsy said calmly. In that moment all four Monkees realized that the gypsy did not ask them for any money when they walked in. "It matters to you because these trails are unavoidable, Michael. You cannot escape them. No matter how much you try. These trials will help you _escape._ "

"Escape what?" Micky asked, now skeptical as well.

"I'm outta here," Mike stated, turning and leaving the tent.

"Michael!" Peter yelped, jumping to his feet and running after him.

The gypsy shook her head. "What a shame. At least he's a fighter. What about you two, then? Do you believe me?"

"I'm… I'm not sure," Micky frowned. "You're being awfully vague about all of this."

"I cannot be any more specific, I'm sorry." The gypsy apologized. "This is a journey the four of you must make on your own, and I can only prepare you for so much of it."

"Can't you at least tell us why we're taking these trials?" Davy asked.

"I did," The gypsy sighed. "You're escaping."

"Yes, but escaping _what,_ exactly?" Micky asked.

"Alas, I cannot tell you." The gypsy frowned. "That is certainly the rough part of my job. I wish I could help you more."

"It doesn't make sense, though," Davy frowned. "You said these trials happen in the past, present, and future. Does that mean we've already endured the first trial? If so, what was it?"

"Maybe it _was_ walking into this tent, like Mike said." Micky suggested.

"No, no." The gypsy shook her head. "That trial has yet to come. I did say the trials are not necessarily in chronological order."

"How can they not be in chronological order?" Micky said. "What happens in the past becomes the past, whatever happens now is the present, and whatever is in the future _is the future!"_

"Micky, I do not mean it in that sense," The gypsy insisted, beginning to become irritated at the amount of doubt the Monkees had in her. "You will see for yourself what I mean."

Micky rolled his eyes. "Come on Davy, let's go." Micky stood and left the tent. Davy stood as well, but the gypsy quickly grabbed his wrist, pulling him back to the floor.

"Take this, Davy Jones," The gypsy said, sliding a book towards him with her free hand. "You are going to need it." The book looked brand new. It had a rough, leather cover with a golden border. It looked heavy.

Davy looked at the book, still in shock from the gypsy's sudden actions. "What is it for?"

"It will record everything about the trials for you." The gypsy said. "All you have to do is touch it." With this, the gypsy lifted the hand she held and placed it gently on the book. Davy felt a sudden poke and jumped.

"Ow!" He yelped, bringing his hand back to his chest. He looked at it to see there was no blood coming from his hand. "What was that for?"

"The book needed a sample of blood to record your memories." The gypsy explained as if it were obvious. "There is no blood on your hand because the book heals the wound it makes for you. Now look, our entire conversation, as well as the past five years, has been recorded in this book." She opened the book and began to read. "The first thing I can clearly remember from my adventure is the day I met the princess of Harmonica. Her name was Bettina. She had beautiful white hair, the most elegant of all faces, and she was absolutely perfect. I was on the beach outside of my home, enjoying the peace and serenity of the ocean. However-"

Davy interrupted her. "You must be joking!" She handed him the book and he read it for himself. His jaw dropped at the accuracy in detail regarding the adventure he had with his friends and Princess Bettina. He flipped through a few pages and found the story of when he and his mates almost became members of an Arabian embassy, he himself to become a prince. Another chapter contained the story of their adventure in Mexico, when Davy was kidnapped by bandits. In the very back of the book Davy found his encounter with the gypsy.

"This is crazy." Davy muttered. "How is this possible?"

The gypsy winked. "You'll find out in due time, Davy Jones. Now go, your friends need you."

Not sure whether he trusted the gypsy, Davy took the book and backed out of the tent, watching her. When the flap to the tent settled in front of him, he turned around to find himself surrounded by darkness.


	2. Chapter 2- The Wool Hat

Chapter 2- The Wool Hat

Davy was literally surrounded by darkness. He lost no consciousness between the entrance to the tent and his current location, everything was just _dark._ Nervously he tried backing into the tent once again, only to find that the entrance to the tent was now a solid wall. He held onto the book and his jacket tightly, those items being the only two things he knew existed. He nervously took a step forward.

"Mike?"

"Shh!" Was the response to Davy's plea. "I'm tryin' to listen here."

"Mike?" Davy asked again. "Where are you?"

Suddenly an arm grabbed Davy's shoulder, pulling him to the floor. Another wild "shh" welcomed Davy. This sound, Davy could tell, belonged to Micky.

"Micky? What's going on here?" Davy asked, not seeing a single face in the black void.

"We don't know, and we won't know unless you keep quiet!" Micky hissed, planting a hand over Davy's mouth. Davy listened hard to the silence around him, quickly finding two faint voices rising up out of the darkness.

"I think today we should be able to at least get some draft takes down for _Me and Magdalena,_ as well as _I Know What I Know._ The instrumental takes are all ready for vocals." A voice said.

"I would really like to get _You Bring the Summer_ finished up today," A second voice added.

"We'll need Mike first. What time is he supposed to be getting here?" The first voice said.

"I don't know, I think he said he would be here at noon. Let me check my texts again," The second voice said. After a second of silence the voice sighed with relief. "Mike just texted me. He's pulling into the parking lot as we speak."

"That's good," The first voice replied. "Shall we go welcome him?"

"By all means," The second voice laughed. There was the sound of footsteps, the creaking of a door, and the shutting of that door. Mike listened for another minute to make sure the room was empty before opening the door he held onto for dear life. A flood of light overcame the four men who were kneeling in what appeared to be a coat closet. They all rushed out of the closet, sprawling themselves unevenly among the floor. Micky was the first to bounce up.

"Where are we?" Micky asked curiously, running right up to the mysterious panel which stood in front of a glass wall.

"I think we're in a recording studio, Mick," Mike concluded, bouncing up and joining the curious Monkee.

"My question is, how did we get here?" Peter asked, getting up as well.

Davy grabbed his jacket and book and joined the others at the large panel. "The gypsy, I presume."

"Does this mean we've started these "trials," she told us about?" Peter asked.

"I don't know," Micky said, "But I think I'm going to press this button-"

With his finger mid-way to the button, Mike snatched his hand and pulled it away from the button. "No!" He hissed. "We don't want those guys knowin' we're here. We could get in a lot of trouble if they knew we were."

"So?" Micky asked, eyeing his hand. "We're already in a lot of trouble. Our boss isn't going to pay us if we don't show up for that next show. Plus I left my jacket in the gypsy tent. Maybe, if I press this button, that closet will turn into a portal back to the gypsy's tent."

"I have my doubts about that, Micky," Davy said, looking at the button Micky was ready to press. "Besides, I think we should be more worried about those men coming back rather than our job at the moment."

Mike let go of Micky's hand and threw on his pin-stripe jacket, unaware that his hat fell out of his pocket and onto the floor. "We need to find a way out of here, and fast."

Quickly, and with utter curiosity, Micky pressed the button. The room filled with music, startling all four Monkees. It sounded very sixties to them. It was upbeat and catchy. One could even say it had a Monkees feel to it.

A voice joined the music. "Love's a thing that needs one to thrive on. Then it grows, at least that's what I've been told."

"Hey!" Micky exclaimed, "That's Davy!"

All four Monkees were in agreement. That _was_ Davy's voice. There was no doubt about it. Thousands of questions arose from this discovery. Where were the Monkees that recorded this song? _When_ did they record this song? When would the Monkees reach the point in their lives where they would be recording records to sell? What _year_ did the four of them end up in? Where did the gypsy send them?

Mike quickly stopped the music. "Micky, I told you not to touch that!"

"Mike, that was Davy's voice!"

"I know it was Davy's voice, but we can't be going around and playing with stuff we're not supposed to be playing with!"

Davy piped in. "Micky's got a point, Mike. You must be as curious as we are. I mean, that was my voice! I don't ever remember recording that song. I don't even know that song!"

"I am curious, but right now is not the time to be curious. We need to get out of here," Mike said. Suddenly, they heard footsteps from the other side of the door. "Quick! Back into the closet!" All four Monkees scrambled into the closet, quietly shutting the door as the studio door opened. The four Monkees listened to the conversation outside.

"The flight attendant was an absolute-" A brand new voice said when the creaking of the door stopped. There was a moment of silence as the owner of the voice stopped his previous sentence. "You guys cannot be serious."

"Serious about what, Mike?" The first voice asked. The Monkees assumed that the two men from before had brought 'Mike' up to the studio.

"This stupid hat! I'm not going to wear it. I can't believe that you guys went the mile to try and get me to wear it." The man named 'Mike' exclaimed.

"We didn't do anything of the sort," The second voice stated. "Actually, that hat wasn't in here when we left to meet you."

"No, it wasn't," The first voice confirmed. "Honestly, we have no idea where it came from." There was a moment of silence to confirm the bewilderment of the three men. The Monkees could hear Mike curse under his breath at the realization that he left his hat in the studio.

"Could you wear it, anyway?" The second voice asked with a hint of childish play in his voice. There was a moment of silence before the voice said again, "I'm kidding, I'm kidding. Just throw it in the closet and we'll solve this mystery later. We have songs to record."

Each of the Monkees felt their hearts leap into their throats. Oh no. Mike backed into Micky, who backed into Peter, who backed into Davy. They all tried backing into what they hoped would be the gypsy tent, but when Davy's head hit the back wall, their hopes plummeted. They were going to be caught.


	3. Chapter 3- The Trials

Chapter 3- The Trials

 _ **Author's Note: To help with differentiating between names, the names of the older men will be bolded and the names of the younger men will remain the same. Please let me know if this helps at all, because we're going to be getting into some deep stuff soon and I know with one of my previous stories,**_ " **Don't Wait for Me,"** _ **people told me there was some mix up with the different Mike's. Thank you for your time and thank you for reading my story!**_

The door to the closet opened, shining a ray of light onto the four cowering Monkees. A silhouette stood among the light, Mike's wool hat in hand. The silhouette stepped forward, revealing an elderly man.

"Dear god," the elderly man said. The Monkees identified the voice as the man named **Mike**. "We've got an infestation of fans in here."

Two more elders appeared behind the man, presumably the men who owned the first two voices. The one who appeared over **Mike's** left shoulder was a scruffy looking man with thick glasses and a thinning hairline. The man over the right shoulder was clean shaven, but wore a black fedora, presumably to cover his balding hairline.

"Hey, those are some groovy outfits, kids," The elder in the fedora smiled at the Monkees. "Are you all a barber quartet or something?"

 **Mike** rolled his eyes at his friend's comment. "Come on you four, get out here. You have a lot of explaining to do." The elders moved and Mike began the motion of leaving the closet. Once Davy was out, The man named **Mike** shut the closet door. "Alright kids," the man began. "What are you four doing here?"

"We don't know, sir." Micky was brave enough to reply. "You see, we were working at a carnival-"

"We're musicians," Davy butted in. "We were performing there as a gig, just to get some cash in to pay rent."

"Right," Micky continued. "And it was ungodly hot, so we stopped by a gypsy tent to cool down."

"She sent us here!" Peter added quickly.

The three elderly men gave each other a doubtful glance. "Right…" **Mike** said, "So what are your names, kids?"

"Well," Mike stuttered. "I'm Mike Nesmith and this is-"

"Peter Tork."

"Micky Dolenz."

"And Davy Jones."

Each Monkee said their names. The expressions of the elderly men changed from stern disbelief to astonished disbelief. The man in the fedora shook his head. "You're pullin' our legs, kids. Now tell us your _real_ names."

"Well that's not very nice to assume," Peter pouted.

Mike rolled his eyes. "Peter, not now. Uh, my full name is Robert Michael Nesmith."

"I'm George Michael Dolenz."

"David Thomas Jones."

"Guys, do I have to?" Peter moaned, not wanting to reveal the embarrassing name he was stuck with.

"You must be joking!" The elder in the fedora exclaimed.

"Hey, that's Davy's line!" Peter pouted.

"Not the time, Peter," Davy whispered, putting a free hand on Peter's shoulder.

"Very funny kids," The scruffy-looking man said. "What are your real names?"

"Those are our real names!" Davy piped up.

"Stop fooling around, kids, this is serious business. You need to tell us your real names." The scruffy man demanded.

"Those are our real names!" Mike exclaimed. "We're in a band called the Monkees."

"Are you kids high on something?" The man in the fedora asked.

"What? No!" Mike said. "Honestly, we're the Monkees! We can prove it to you, if you like."

"Please do," the man named Mike said. The three elders sat down in the available chairs in the room. All three men crossed their arms.

"Ah," Mike stuttered, looking around. "Can we have some instruments or something?"

 **Mike** rolled his eyes. "Follow us." The three elderly men stood, leading the Monkees to the studio where they recorded the instrument tracks.

Once there, the Monkees placed themselves accordingly, Micky fiddling around with the drums till they were to his liking. Mike and Peter tuned and Micky tested out the drums by tapping out a simple rhythm. Davy grabbed as many percussion instruments as he could find and set them on the floor in front of him. The three strangers placed themselves in the booth where the producers usually stayed, free to discuss the sudden series of events without the interruption of the young Monkees. Quickly the band in the studio began to play.

"Take the last train to Clarksville, and I'll meet you at the station. You can be there by four-thirty, 'cause I've made your reservation, don't be slow. Oh, no, no, no… Oh, no, no, no!"

"What the hell?" **Mike** asked, his jaw dropping.

"It's incredible!" The man in the fedora exclaimed. "They sound just like us!"

"I- I think I've read this somewhere before…" The third man muttered, scratching his head. "If you'll excuse me, guys," The man stood and started to leave the booth.

"Where are you going, Peter?" The man in the fedora asked.

"I'll be back, I just need to go grab something," Was all the man said, leaving the booth and shutting the door.

"Take the last train to Clarksville… Take the last train to Clarksville…" The Monkees faded out of the song. Once the noise stopped coming from their instruments, they all looked up at the men in the booth.

 **Mike** pressed a button on the console and said to the boys, "Alright, you can prove that you can sing 'Clarksville,' but can you do 'Listen to the Band?'"

Mike laughed. "Of course we can!" The Monkees set themselves up for 'Listen to the Band,' and they were off. "Hey, hey, mercy woman plays a song and no one listens, I need help I'm falling again. Play the drum a little louder, tell me I can live without her, if I only listen to the band. Listen to the band!"

 **Mike** leaned back. "They're good. Too good. How is it even possible?"

"I think I have an answer to that," **Peter** returned, holding in his arms a large, old book. It was bound in leather, with a faint gold border. It looked like it was in good enough condition, though it smelled like it was a thousand years old.

"In that book?" The man in the fedora asked. **Peter** nodded.

"I got this book from Davy before he passed away. I've probably read it a thousand times since then. When they were singing Clarksville, I was getting a sense of deja vu, so I decided to go investigate. It's all in here. Everything that's happening now is in this book." **Peter** explained. He opened the book and flipped through the pages till he found what he was looking for. He cleared his throat.

" _The old Monkees took us to a studio where we could play our instruments. We set up the instruments while the elders went to sit in the booth above the studio. They looked down on us like we were a joke, too good to be true. Mike, Micky, Peter, and I all agreed we should start with 'Last Train to Clarksville.' We sang the song as though we had been playing it since the time we were born. I took a glance up at the men in the booth. Their looks had changed from skepticism to utter disbelief. We had definitely impressed them. When we finished 'Last Train to Clarksville,' the elderly Mike asked us to play 'Listen to the Band.'"_ **Peter** read, glancing up at his friends every now and then, since he almost knew the book by heart. They all looked down at the Monkees in the studio, rocking out 'Listen to the Band.'

"I don't think I quite grasp what you're proposing, Pete." **Mike** said, watching the band finish, 'Listen to the Band.'

"If you don't believe me, I bet this book will be able to predict the next two songs you ask them to play." **Peter** skimmed the page. "Micky, come here so you can help prove my point."

The man in the fedora stood at the call of his name and walked over to read over **Peter's** shoulder. **Mike** ringed his wrists a little before pressing the button again to talk to the band. "Boys, give me something called, 'Your Auntie Grizelda.'" The band underneath nodded and arranged themselves accordingly. **Mike** glanced up at **Micky** and **Peter.** "Well?"

"I-" **Micky** stuttered. "I don't believe it! Mike, you've never seen this book before?"

"No I haven't." **Mike** replied.

"She knows her mind all right, your Auntie Grizelda, she says she knows my kind, she might, maybe so." Peter sang to the audience. Though they were hardly paying attention.

 **Peter** read the next part of the story. " _We had a feeling that the men were now only paying us little attention, but we continued playing otherwise. After 'Listen to the Band,' the old Mike had us play 'Your Auntie Grizelda.' Peter was surprised that they asked that of us, but then Micky concluded…"_

"Concluded what?" **Mike** asked sternly.

"I can't tell you," **Peter** said. "You might try and change it if I do."

 **Mike** sighed. "Fine." The three men finished listening to the perfect performance of 'Your Auntie Grizelda.' When it was done, it was up to **Mike** to announce the last song. He leaned into the microphone and said to the Monkees, "This will be the last thing you'll play for us. I want to hear 'Daydream Believer.'

"I don't believe it!" **Micky** gasped. "The book got it right!"

"Really?" **Mike** asked.

 **Peter** nodded. " _Micky concluded that he was pulling a song from each musician. That meant I was next. I ran through the list of possible songs he would ask me to sing. I was nervous, but I knew I could do it. We finished up 'Your Auntie Grizelda' and waited patiently for the next song. The men seemed to be discussing something in their booth while we were performing. The old Mike seemed to be thinking long and hard about his last request. Finally, he said to us, "This will be the last thing you'll play for us. I want to hear 'Daydream Believer.' A wave of relief washed over me. I had this one in the bag."_

"Give me that!" **Mike** demanded, jumping up and grabbing the book from **Peter's** hands. He looked at the pages in question. "How is this possible?" He asked, looking up at his friends.

"I don't know," **Peter** replied. "But we have to help them."

"Is that what the book is telling us to do?" **Mike** asked, slamming the book shut and handing it back to **Peter**.

"No," he said. "It's what the book said we did."


	4. Chapter 4- The Truth

Chapter 4- The Truth

 ** _Author's Note: The old Monkees are based on the TV Monkees, not the real actors, even though real things that the actors did are happening, (i.e._ Good Times! _) I just feel events like that are super important, so it should be involved not only in the lives of the actors, but in the lives of the characters as well. Enjoy!_**

* * *

The Monkees tapered the end of 'Daydream Believer' quite nicely, if they did say so themselves. They all looked up to see the three strangers talking in the booth. They couldn't hear what they were saying, but they were all nervous as to the outcome. It was like an audition, really. It was the audition to be the Monkees. If they failed the audition, they would never be able to go home.

"What do you think they'll do if they don't believe we're the Monkees?" Micky asked, standing and leaving the drums.

"Probably call security or tell us to get out before they _do_ call security," Mike proposed, setting the guitar on its stand. "What I don't get is, _why_ is it so important that we are the Monkees? What's so special about us?"

"Maybe that gypsy sent us to some alternate universe where we are rich and famous and those three old men might kick us out _if_ we are the Monkees because they hate new music," Peter proposed, setting the bass down on its stand.

"That's absurd," Davy argued. "Why would three old men be at a recording studio if they hated new music?"

"To get paid," Micky defended. "Old people have to work too, you know."

"Sure, but in an alternate universe?" Davy questioned. "I don't believe it. How could the four of us ever become rich and famous? If we're not famous now, what's the point?"

"You've got to keep working at it, Davy. Two years isn't going make you an instant star, now is it? Besides that," Mike added. "If we happen to be in an alternate universe, that still wouldn't explain the technology we see where. This is far too advanced for 1966, no matter what universe you're in."

"How would you know?" Micky asked. "Have you visited any different universes lately? For all we know, maybe this human race is more advanced than we are."

Their discussion was cut short by the entrance of the three strangers in the studio. They all seemed nervous, as if they were preparing for death. The scruffy-looking man held a ratty old book in his arms. To Davy, the book looked familiar. He suddenly realized he left _his_ book in the recording studio closet.

"Alright," **Mike** said, clearing his throat. "We believe you. You four are the Monkees."

The four young boys cheered with joy. They believed them. "What are you going to do with us?" Peter asked.

"We're going to help you," the man with the book said. "We have to."

"How are you going to help us?" Mike asked.

"We're going to do what the book tells us to do, right Pete?" The man in the fedora answered, looking to the man with the book for confirmation.

"Right," the man confirmed, opening the book. He skimmed a few pages before shutting it and looking at his friends. "This is the part where we introduce ourselves, guys."

"You must be joking, right?" **Mike** asked. "Do you realize what's going on here?"

"That's what the book says, Mike," The man with the book replied. "This is going to make the situation more complicated than it should be, but it needs to happen."

"What about-" The man in the fedora started, but stopped when he remembered that the Monkees were listening to the whole conversation.

"We _have_ to tell them," The man with the book sighed. "I don't want to as much as you, but the book says we have to. I don't think they'll remember, anyway, considering we don't."

"Ahem," Micky coughed. "We're still here, you know."

"Right," The man with the book said, turning back towards the Monkees. "Introductions. My name is…" The man sighed, dreading his name. "Peter Halsten Thorkelson."

"I'm George Michael Dolenz," The man in the fedora introduced himself.

"I thought you looked familiar!" Micky blurted out. He received a look from each of the elderly men.

"And I'm Robert Michael Nesmith," **Mike** introduced himself. "And we're the Monkees."

The four young Monkees were speechless. _They_ were the Monkees? Mike, Micky, and Peter each took a long time, analyzing their older selves. _This_ was what they were going to look like when they get old? How old were these men? Were these really the Monkees? It was horrifying and extraordinary all at the same time. Davy did the same, completely in utter disbelief that his friends had aged so much. The disbelief kept him from asking the question Peter asked first, breaking their silence.

"What about Davy?" Peter asked.

"What about Davy?" **Peter** repeated, looking at his friends. "Who wants to start?"

"This is your idea," **Mike** deadpanned. "You do it."

 **Peter** rolled his eyes. "Fine. You see, kids… Uh… well… Davy, he…"

"Davy's gone," **Micky** blurted out. "He quit the group a few years back, in 2012."

"2012?!" Mike gasped. "You mean to tell me, we're..."

"What year did you think it was?" **Mike** retorted. "1966?"

"Yes!" Mike replied. He quickly caught his cool. "Well, I mean, at first I thought it was. Till we found out the three of you were us."

"Well, sorry Mike, it's actually 2016," **Micky** said to the young guitarist.

"What happened to me?" Davy asked, ignoring the new information.

"Uh, you retired to England," **Micky** continued. "Living happily with your wife."

 **Mike** and **Peter** gave him a glare of utter insanity. However, the four Monkees were satisfied with the lie. Hoping to not revisit the topic again, **Peter** jumped on a new topic. "Right, so we need to help the three of you get back to your own time, right?"

"Right," All four Monkees said in sync. **Mike** cocked an eyebrow, not sure if he was believing what he was seeing.

"First," **Peter** continued. "We need to get you out of those outfits. You can't go walking around California looking like you just came out of a 1950's movie."

"But Pete," **Micky** warned. "We can't just leave. We have work to do. Remember?"

"Yeah, Harry and the rest of the musicians are showing up at two. We've got a little over an hour to figure out what we're going to do with them," **Mike** added, running a hand through his thinning white hair.

"But we can't just let them run loose, now can we?" **Peter** said, adjusting his glasses.

"You could," Mike suggested. "We're flat broke, though. Our boss wasn't going to pay us till after we finished the gig."

"Which looks like it may be never," Micky added. "But you can trust us! I mean, we are _you_ after all."

The three elderly Monkees looked at each other, each silently arguing the proposition. After a moment, **Mike** sighed. "Look, we don't want any of you getting hurt or lost. This isn't 1966 anymore. You're 50 years into the future. You might see and hear some stuff you shouldn't be exposed to."

"But you really need us to blend in," Davy added, defending the case of the young Monkees. "Letting us loose while you work will give us a chance to not only get clothes, but it will let us embrace the new culture and act like we belong here."

"But still…" **Mike** scratched his head, still not liking the idea.

"Come on, Mike, let us go play!" Micky asked. He dropped to his knees and shuffled over to the old man, begging, "Please, please, please, please, please, please, PPPLLLLLEEEEEEAAAAASSSSSEEEE?"

"Fine!" **Mike** blurted out, easily unraveled by the young man's childish behavior.

Micky stood up and grinned. He turned to his friends and snickered, "Works every time."

"Does not!" Mike growled.

"Does too," Micky laughed.

 **Micky** pulled out a credit card and handed it to his younger self. However, before Micky could grab it, **Micky** changed his mind, walking over and handing it to Mike. "I think this would be safer with you. There will be this small computer that you'll stick this into at the cash register. Make sure the little chip goes in first. Sometimes you might have to swipe it. Run it as credit. If needed, the pin is 9847." Mike nodded, taking the card and putting it in his empty wallet. "I'll show you boys out." The young Monkees followed the old Monkee out of the studio, leaving **Mike** and **Peter** alone.

"I feel like I just made a terrible mistake," **Mike** commented, he and **Peter** both watching the door close.

"Because you just let our younger selves loose and they might find out that Davy's really dead out there?" **Peter** asked.

"That, and the fact that they're going to be pissed when they find out that we lied to them."

"Well, _we_ didn't lie to them, Micky did."

"We didn't stop him."

"Good point."

"Did the book change at all?" **Mike** asked.

 **Peter** moved to open the book, but it wouldn't open. Startled, he tugged on the cover again. He tried a few more times before handing it over to **Mike. Mike** tried to open it as well, but it wouldn't open. "Uh oh." **Peter** said, taking the book back.

"We're screwed, aren't we?"

"Yep."


	5. Chapter 5- The Help

Chapter 5- The Help

 _ **Author's Note: I don't own Walmart, I'm just using it as a location. I also do not own the Beatles. Thank you. End of note.**_

* * *

"Don't you four do anything stupid, you hear?" **Micky** scolded as he opened the front doors to the studio. "Now you're going to go down there to the crosswalk and cross it, heading that way," **Micky** explained, pointing in the appropriate directions. "Then you're going to walk all the way down till you hit Walmart. Go to the men's section and buy something that will help you blend in. Buy a backpack to keep your clothes in, too. When you're done there, come STRAIGHT back here. Is that understood?"

"Yes sir!" Micky said, saluting his older self. **Micky** disappeared back into the studio, leaving the young band out on the streets of Los Angeles, alone.

"Well, I guess we better start moving," Mike said, walking away towards the crosswalk. The other three followed.

The streets were even more crowded than they were at home. The Monkees were walking in a line, hoping not to lose each other. As they walked, they analyzed everything they passed. There were people in business suits, bathing suits, and summer clothes that didn't even seem legal. There were people with hair that was any color in the rainbow, and people who modestly had normal colored hair. There were people who were all pierced up, and people who had no piercings at all. Same with tattoos. There were people who were ungodly skinny, and others who took up most of the sidewalk. The boys were in utter astonishment at the variety of people they were seeing on the street. They reached the crosswalk, feeling more out of place then they had before. They didn't bother trying to talk to each other. There was so much noise they couldn't hear themselves think anyway. When the light changed, the four Monkees quickly crossed the street and continued down a less busy path. Eventually, they were able to spread out and walk side to side.

"Mike, look!" Micky exclaimed. "A record store! We should stop in and check it out!"

"No, Micky," Mike said. "You heard what you said. We have to go to Walmart, then go straight back to the studio."

"And we're not supposed to do anything stupid," Peter added.

"And going into a record store fifty years in the future seems pretty stupid to me," Mike added.

"Oh come on! Please?" Micky begged.

"No, now come along now," Mike scolded, grabbing Micky's arm and dragging him along.

"Ow! Ow! Ow!" Micky exclaimed. "Aren't you the least bit curious what kind of music they've got now?"

"Of course, but now is not the time to find out. We're in a strange place in a strange time. We shouldn't go exploring without help from our older selves… I can't believe I just said that." Mike said, contemplating the sentence.

They eventually made it to Walmart. They were in awe at the size of the parking lot and the store itself. It wasn't exactly uncommon to see department stores this size, but everything just seemed so commercial. The parking lot was nearly filled, and people were buzzing around just waiting to get hit by some careless driver. New, fancy cars lined the rows, cars none of them had never seen before. It was overwhelming. They quickly made it into the store, which was even more overwhelming. It was busier in the store than it was in the parking lot. Advertisements were blown up to loom over departments, and there was just a lot of everything. Mike grabbed Micky's arm, Micky grabbed Peter's arm, and Peter grabbed Davy's arm. Mike guided the group through the department store, praying to find the men's section soon.

"I wonder if it is this hectic in England, mates," Davy wondered out loud.

"Hey! Maybe the old Monkees will let us call Davy up and ask!" Micky said excitedly.

"I hate to say it, fellas, but if Davy retired from the Monkees, he probably retired for a good reason. It may be best not to call him up. Besides, I don't know if the other three would be comfortable with that." Mike theorized, dragging the group into the men's clothing section.

"What?" Davy asked. "Why would I not want any of you to call me?"

Mike shrugged. "Sometimes things happen. Don't think about it too hard, Davy."

Davy's face fell. That was going to be hard. What could make Davy want to leave the Monkees? What could happen that would make Mike, Micky, and Peter so uncomfortable that they would not want to call him? He curiosity got the better of him as he and his friends branched off to find clothes that fit.

He noticed Mike wandered off towards the nicer clothes; the dress pants, ties, button downs. Micky had wandered towards a large shelf with a bunch of t-shirts with foreign designs. Peter was completely lost.

"Who would wear any of this?!" Peter exclaimed, holding up a pair of baggy cargo pants.

Davy walked over and took the pants from him. "Maybe you should go over by Mike and pick something from there."

Peter smiled and nodded. He walked away to go join Mike. Davy wasn't one hundred percent sure what to do either. He had to agree with Peter. The clothes around him were so different than what he was used to. He couldn't will himself to like anything. He debated on going over and joining Mike and Peter when Micky interrupted his train of thought.

"The Beatles are _still_ famous?!" Micky almost yelled, holding up a t-shirt with the Beatles logo on it. " _HOW_?"

Davy laughed. "You have to admit, they are pretty good."

"Yes, they're the best thing since sliced bread, but they're _still_ famous fifty years in the future?!" Micky said, looking from the shirt to Davy.

Davy shrugged. "You three are still making music, so I can't imagine that elderly musicians and bands are uncommon in the twenty-first century."

Micky took the shirt and put it back, but then proceeded to look for a size that would fit. After finding the proper size, he smiled and ran off to find pants. Davy walked over and browsed the selection of t-shirts. Nothing besides the Beatles shirt caught his eye, so he began to make his way over to Peter and Mike, browsing as he went.

Davy walked up to a rack of plain dress shirts and began skimming the selection. Movement from the other side of the rack caught his eye. He looked up, concerned. There was an unexpected tap on his shoulder, which made him jump. He turned around and said to the stranger behind him, "Don't do that!" That's when he realized he was staring into the eyes of the gypsy.

"Hello Davy Jones!" The gypsy said. Seeing her in a brighter light, Davy had to admit she was beautiful. Her fire-red hair was pulled back into a high ponytail with bangs clipped back with a star barrette. She wore khaki bell bottoms with a dark blue polo, and a name tag that said, 'Hello my name is GYPSY.'

"It's you!" Davy yelped. "What the bloody hell is going on here?!"

"You've reached the first trial, Davy," The gypsy said, leaning against the clothes rack. "The trial of the future."

"I don't understand what's going on here!" Davy said. "You sent us to the future to meet ourselves?!"

The gypsy shrugged. "Not my choice. It was the book's choice. Speaking of which, where is the book?" Her face suddenly showed concern. Her golden eyes looked Davy up and down, as if searching for it on his person.

"It's back at the studio with the old Monkees," Davy said casually. "What's the big deal? You said we have to return the book to its owner. How are we supposed to do that? We don't even know who the owner is!"

"Okay, for one," The gypsy said, holding up a finger. "Shut up with your questions. Totally not what I came here for. I forgot to tell you something back in the tent."

"You're not going to answer any of my questions?" Davy asked, growing frustrated.

"Of course not!" The gypsy pushed back a stray hair that fell from her pinned bangs. "That takes the fun out of it. Everything will make more sense once I tell you what I forgot to tell you. So will you shut up for a second so I can talk?" The gypsy waited for a reply from the Englishman. When he said nothing, she continued. "I forgot to tell you that you are the only one who will remember any of this."

"I'm sorry, what?" Davy asked.

"Time travel is tricky," The gypsy explained. "That's why I gave you the book. You are in charge of recording everything that happens from now till the day you die… More or less. Anyway, in time, there is always a starting point. The old Monkees out there, this never happened to them when they were young. Or, well, at one point it didn't. So your friends over there will eventually forget that all of this happened, so that this point in time stays genuine to the old Monkees' experience. Do you follow?"

"No," Davy said simply.

"Alright," The gypsy said, scratching her head. "How about this… The old Monkees' never did any of this. Shopping for clothes, meeting their older selves, and all that. Got that?"

"Yeah?" Davy said, trying to follow.

"Right, and your friends, the young ones over there, they are doing what the old Monkees never did. Right?"

"I guess," Davy replied.

"Okay, so in order to make sure that the same thing happens in their future, they have to forget all of this happened in order to ensure that the old Monkees act exactly the same in this moment. Understand?"

"I think so, but why am I not going to forget any of this?" Davy asked.

The gypsy frowned. "Well, that's because you have the book. You are like the author. You keep track of everything that happens, so you can't forget." Davy could tell she was hiding something, but he decided that what she was saying was truth enough. She wasn't going to tell him anything else.

"Alright. Is that all?" Davy asked. He glanced over at his friends, where Micky was bothering Mike and Peter by the pants. "Can my friends even see you?"

"Probably not," The gypsy said plainly. "But that's all I have to say for now. I'll probably pop up every now and then, just to check in and maybe give you a hand every now and then. Groovy?"

"Do they even use that word in 2016?" Davy asked.

"No…" The gypsy said, sighing. "They should, but no… Anyway, good luck, kiddo." The gypsy smiled. "See you later!" She gave a small wave and disappeared with the blink of an eye.

"Right…" Davy said, still digesting this newly found information. Deciding he couldn't concentrate on the clothes rack in front of him, he walked over to the others, who had all managed to mix and match some sort of outfit.

All three of them had grabbed black dress pants that flared ever so slightly at the bottom. Micky had firmly chosen the Beatles t-shirt and a black zip-up hoodie to wear over it. Mike had gone for a simple white button-down dress shirt with a blue tie. Peter managed to find a slightly psychedelic orange button-down with a black and grey vest.

"Davy, did you pick anything out yet?" Micky asked.

"Nah, none of this seems to be my style," Davy lied, the gypsy still on his mind.

"Don't worry babe, we'll find you something. We have to. You stick out like a sore thumb." Mike said.

"We all do!" Davy said. "You three haven't changed yet," Davy gestured towards the clothes in his friends' arms. "Just give me a few more minutes. I'll find something."

Mike shrugged. "Micky and I will go find a backpack and buy these clothes. We'll come back for you guys here. Don't go anywhere! This place is a maze within a maze."

Mike took the clothes Peter had chosen and walked off with Micky. Peter continued to help Davy pick out some clothes. They ended up grabbing the black dress pants the other three had grabbed and a red button down.

"Something's up," Peter said all of a sudden. "Want to talk about it?"

"Huh?" Davy asked, thrown off by the comment.

"You seem off," Peter said. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Davy gave a shy smile. "Thanks Pete, but no thanks. Maybe later."

"Alright, man. The door's always open if you need me," Peter gave Davy a genuine smile. Davy smiled back. He loved Peter, he really did, but he was still contemplating what the gypsy had said. _He was the only one who was going to remember any of this._ There was a clue in that statement, surely there was. Davy just couldn't figure it out. The entire idea of time travelling to the future confused Davy. He understood why he was the only one to remember, but what if he met the 2016 Davy Jones? What then? Would he forget all of this, too? Would he break all of space and time? Would he accidentally kill everyone just by talking to himself? Time travel was confusing.


	6. Chapter 6- The Music

Chapter 6- The Music

 _ **Author's Note: This chapter is... interactive. Have YouTube on standby. In the story, your queue to pull up YouTube will be (**_ **#Title_of_Video #monkeesromp** _ **) I will always let you know whether a chapter will be interactive in the beginning author's note. Please let me know how this works out for you as a reader and if there are any changes that can be made to this method. Please and Thank you! (Also, I am refraining from using "real" names of people who work in the studio. Thanks!)**_

* * *

The four Monkees bought their clothes, hid their carny stripes, and left the department store undetected. They walked down the street, trying to blend in, even though inside they were in almost a state of panic. They passed the record store again, Micky begged to go inside, and they continued on their way, Mike dragging the hyper Monkee along. They made it back to the studio in one piece.

Walking into the studio was like walking over the border into another world. Once the door was shut, all was quiet. A brunette secretary sat at the front desk and looked at the boys with suspicion. "Hello, how can I help you?"

"Ah," Mike began, looking at himself and his friends.

"I'm Micky Dolenz's grandson," Micky butted in. "He's expecting me."

"Is he expecting them?" The secretary asked, gesturing towards Mike, Peter, and Davy.

"Oh, of course!" Micky said happily. "Grandpa is great fans of them. These are my friends, Fred... Dicky... and Biff." He point to Mike, Davy, and Peter as he said each name respectively. They each tried to hide their sudden disapproval of these names as Micky continued on. "My name is Sullivan, but most people call me Suds."

"Right… I'll let Mr. Dolenz know you're here," The secretary picked up a phone from her desk and pushed a few buttons. "Hello? Hi Harry, this is Hannah down at the front desk. Mr. Dolenz's grandson, Sullivan, is here to see him."

* * *

"Micky!" Harry Nelson called from the studio room's telephone. "Your grandson is here to see you."

"Oh really?" **Micky** said, "Which one?"

 **Mike** elbowed him and gave him a look. It clicked in his head. "Oh! _That_ grandson. Right, yeah, send them up." He leaned over to **Mike** and whispered, "I forgot, I'm sorry. I don't even have grandkids." **Mike** rolled his eyes.

Harry told the secretary over the phone to let them come up. He then hung up the phone. He walked over to the panel where **Peter** was inside the studio, reviewing the lyrics to the song they had been recording. "Alright Peter, from the top," **Peter** nodded through the window and listened for the music to begin. **Mike** and **Micky** both stood and quietly left. Once the door closed, **Mike** hit **Micky** over the head.

"You forgot you don't have grandchildren?!" **Mike** hissed. "How do you forget something like that?"

"Sorry!" **Micky** apologized. "But we're adults here, was that really necessary? I mean, we're in our _seventies_ for crying out loud."

 **Mike** didn't have a comeback. He frowned at **Micky** , trying to think of something to say. "Force of habit?"

"Force of habit?" **Micky** asked. "You haven't hit me like that in thirty years, if not longer!"

"Yeah, I know. Sorry," **Mike** apologized.

Suddenly, the four young Monkees appeared in the hall, Mike still dragging Micky by the arm. When the two elderly men gave the young man a questioning look, Mike replied with, "He was trying to snoop around one of the closets where you keep tracks." **Micky** arched an eyebrow while **Mike** laughed.

"There! I'll just say that hit I gave you was for that."

"Then you're fifty years too late," **Micky** smiled. He knew he had lost the young kids in conversation. "Come on, let's go in here. Peter's recording in there." **Micky** opened the door adjacent to the door they had just come out of, and everyone walked in. Quietly he shut the door behind him. "Alright, where's my credit card?"

"Right here," Mike said, pulling out his wallet and handing **Micky** his credit card. "And here's the receipts." Mike handed **Micky** both receipts from when they bought most of the clothes, then Davy's clothes. **Micky** quickly put them all into his wallet.

"Alright," **Micky** turned to **Mike** , "What do we do with them now?"

"Hey!" Davy blurted out. "I need that book from earlier!"

"Yeah!" Peter joined in. "And Mike needs his hat!"

Mike blushed at the mention of the green wool hat, especially since the older man's outburst from earlier. However, his older self seem calm about it, and walked over to the closet, pulling out both the hat and the book. He handed the hat to Mike and the book to Davy.

As soon as Davy's hands made contact with the book, he yelped with pain, startling everyone. "No, no, I'm fine," Davy said, lifting his hand and looking at it. The book had done it again. He opened it and browsed what it had added. When he read up to their current point in time, he closed it. "It does that."

"What does that mean?" **Mike** asked.

"Ah, it's a little hard to explain. It pricks my hand or something and records everything I've experienced up to this point in time." Davy explained.

"Okay," **Mike** nodded. Then he looked at **Micky** and mouthed, "What?"

 **Micky** shrugged. That's when **Peter** walked in, happy to see everyone was there. "Hey guys! I just came up with a real groovy idea, come on. The others are going down for a snack break. We don't have much time."

"What in the world are you talking about, Peter?" **Mike** asked.

"Love to Love! We can make them sing it!" **Peter** said. "I got the idea while recording 'Little Girl.' Come on, I've got the instrumental track up and the lyrics and harmonies all out."

 **Mike** and **Micky** both looked at each other. It _was_ a pretty clever idea. Even though they would still have to credit it as a song from 1967, having the young Monkees sing the song would make it authentic from 2016, since the vocals were recorded in 2016. They would be the only ones to know. They quickly liked the idea. "Alright," They said together. Slowly they got up.

"Come on kids," **Micky** said. "Let's put your vocals to good use."

"Wait, what?" Mike asked, he and the others quickly standing.

"We're down a Monkee, and you're not," **Peter** said as they all filed into the next room. "We want the four of you to record a song so it's authentic. We'll have to credit it as 1967, but it will be comforting to the three of us if you sing it in 2016."

"Is that the song we heard in there?" Micky asked, pointing to the room they were just in. "That was the room we originally showed up in, right?"

"Yeah," **Micky** explained. "It's a primary Davy vocal, and we don't have Davy here to sing it for us."

"Why not?" Davy asked. "Can't you just call him up and ask him to come over for just this one song?" Davy still didn't understand why they were so persistent on not having his older self there.

"You see kid," **Mike** said, "The 2016 version of yourself isn't exactly readily available at the moment. Thinking about it, you'd be a little grouchy."

"Why?" Davy asked.

"No time for more questions!" **Peter** blurted out. "Just get in there! Davy, you've got lead and you three have harmonies. Quick, before the rest of the staff comes back." The four Monkees scurried into the studio and prepared themselves for recording. This was the first time they had ever recorded anything.

#Love to Love #monkeesromp

The song ended, and the three elders were astonished at how effortlessly the Monkees sang that piece. The Monkees in the studio took off their headphones and looked at themselves through the window, with the exception of Davy, who was still reading the lyrics to himself.

"How was that?" Mike asked, eager for feedback.

 **Mike** , **Micky** , and **Peter** all were speechless. After a second, **Peter** said to him, "I'm so glad I got that recorded. Come on out, guys."

The Monkees got out. As they did so, **Peter** opened the door and had them all leave the room. He asked them all to follow him back down to the front door. He also asked that they bring everything they needed with them. **Mike** and **Micky** followed the group down to the front door. Once they were all outside, **Peter** began giving new instructions to the Monkees.

"Alright, I'm going to hail you guys a cab and ask the driver to take you guys to my place. Mike, here's the key to the front door. Leave it unlocked so I can get in when I get home, but keep the curtains drawn so no one can see in. I should be home closer to eleven tonight, so feel free to take what you want from my fridge. Just make sure you clean up after yourselves," **Peter** rambled on, waving for a taxi.

"Come on, Peter," **Micky** sighed. "They're grown men, I think they know how to act in someone else's house… You do know how to do that, right?"

"Of course!" Davy piped up. Mike, Micky, and Peter all gave their reassurances to the elders. "How old do you think we are?"

 **Mike** shrugged. "Young enough to be our grand-kids, that is for sure. Eighteen, maybe?"

A taxi pulled up and the four Monkees got in the cab. **Peter** told the driver where to go and gave him about fifty dollars, instructing the driver to give the change to the black-haired man in the green wool hat. The driver nodded, happily accepting the change and eating up **Peter's** fake story about wasted grandchildren who really needed to go home, but he was far too busy to drive them home.

The cab drove away with the four Monkees inside, leaving the three remaining Monkees to go back to their work.


	7. Chapter 7- The Phone Call

Chapter 7- The Phone Call

"Alright, groovy!" Micky said, rubbing his hands in an evil manner. Mike opened the front door to **Peter's** modest, but extravagant house. The four Monkees could only dream of living in such a place. "Let's go explore!"

"Wait just a minute buster," Mike stopped him, grabbing onto his shoulder and pulling him back. "We've got to think this through, first. When we go in there, we've got to be cool and collect. We need to act like we're _not_ children and excited to see all the things 2016 has in store for us inside Peter's house."

"Psst," Micky waved at him. "How is HE going to know?"

"I'm standing right here!" Peter gasped. "What am I, chopped liver?"

"Sorry Pete," Micky apologized. "I was talking about the old you."

"Doesn't matter," Peter reasoned. "What if I remember you going through all my stuff?"

"Ah," Davy said, holding up a finger. "I'm not sure time travel works that way." Mike, Micky, and Peter gave Davy an odd look. It was Davy's time to seem smart. "Well, you see, the old yous don't seem to remember any of this, so obviously they all have forgotten this event. Kind of like destiny is making sure that your experience is the same every time it happens."

"But it's only going to happen once," Micky said.

"No," Mike said, stopping Micky. "Twice. The first time that we do it and the second time that they do it. That makes sense. Not a lot of sense, but it makes sense." Davy smiled, happy to know Mike was on his side. "Anyway, let's get inside before anyone grows suspicious." Mike pushed everyone inside and shut the door.

All the Monkees were in awe at the interior of the house. It was clean, it was cool, and it was extraordinary. They could easily identify each room, and it was apparent **Peter** didn't spend much time here. They first cautiously ventured into the living room area that was on their right. A giant screen hung from the wall, and three small couches sat in front of it in a square shape. In the middle was a coffee table with a few pointless magazines and a remote on it. In the corner was a book case, surrounded by various alive and fake plants. Paintings of family and friends hung from the wall. Or, well, they could only assume it was family and friends, since the only person they recognized was **Peter.** Peter and Mike studied the framed photographs of **Peter's** history, while Micky browsed the bookshelf. Davy had wandered into the kitchen, studying all of the fancy, high-tech appliances.

"Who do you think all these people are, Pete?" Mike asked.

"I don't know, I assume that might be one of my kids," Peter said, pointing to a photograph where he was holding a baby.

"Peter, you have kids?" Micky asked, leaving the bookshelf to look at the pictures as well. "Hey, how come we're not up here?"

"Don't get all riled up, Micky, this isn't the only room in the house," Mike scolded, looking at a framed picture of **Peter** with three younger adults. "We're probably in here somewhere."

"Hey, Peter! I wonder where you keep all your instruments," Micky said, beginning to wander down the nearest hallway. Mike and Peter quickly followed, both forgetting about Davy and his whereabouts.

* * *

Davy had his head in the refrigerator, looking at their options for dinner later on. He closed the door to the refrigerator, keeping in mind all of his options as he began looking through the cupboards and drawers. As he was looking, however, something caught his eye. On one of the counter tops sat a small book. Naturally curious, Davy walked over and took a closer look. It was an address book.

Davy opened the address book, promising himself just one look. He wouldn't meddle with his future. He just simply wanted to know who was in **Peter's** address book. Frankly, Davy thought that they would have made a more efficient way to store contacts, but having an address book at his disposal was a miracle he wasn't going to pass up. He opened it and immediately flipped it to the J's.

" _Just a peak, to see if he can actually get a hold of me,"_ Davy thought to himself, looking at the contacts under J. " _Jessica, Davy's wife. Sarah, Davy's daughter. Talia, Davy's daughter. Annabel, Davy's daughter. Another Jessica who is my daughter. He's got a lot of family in here, but where am I?"_ Davy flipped through the J's, not finding his name at all. Davy frowned. What happened to them? What would make **Peter** want to keep in contact with his family, but not him? His curiosity had reached a peak. He looked around the room for a telephone. On the opposite wall sat a small, rectangular object. Davy quickly walked over to see what it was. When he realized that it was probably a phone, he grabbed the address book and dialed the first number he saw, which happened to be the number of one Sarah Lee Jones. Davy quickly prepared the conversation in his head.

" _Hello?" Davy will say when someone picks up. "Is this Sarah Jones?"_

" _Yes it is," The woman on the other end will say. "Dad, what are you doing calling from Peter's house?"_

" _Ah, well, you see Sarah, I am over visiting with him and he lost my phone number. Now, I don't know it by heart, so I was hoping you could give it to me so I can give it to him."_

" _Oh, sure Dad. It's…" Sarah would give Davy the number. "Is that all?"_

" _Yes, Sarah, thank you!" Davy would say before hanging up._

"Hello?" The voice on the other end of the phone said, "Uncle Peter?"

"No," Davy said, clearing his throat. "This is, uh, this is your father, Sarah." Davy could only assume it was her.

The girl on the other end suddenly laughed. "Alright, alright, obviously this is Micky. What's up, Uncle Micky?"

"No, this isn't Micky," Davy said, awfully confused. "This is Davy Jones."

Sarah gave a nervous laugh from her end of the phone call. "No, it's not. That's impossible. Now tell me who you are or I'm hanging up and calling my friend because there is a stranger in his house."

"No, Sarah, listen to me! I _am_ Davy Jones! Honest! Why would your own father lie to you?" Davy said. Why would a father lie to a daughter he has never met before?

There was silence for a moment. Then Sarah asked, "You're really Davy Jones?"

"Yes, I am!" Davy smiled, happy.

"You can't be," Sarah said, completely sober with a hint of fear in her voice.

"Don't I sound like, him?" Davy asked. "And from where I am standing, I really do look like him. Why don't you believe me, Sarah?"

"You do sound like him," Sarah's voice was obviously shaking from over the phone. "That's the problem, isn't it?" Suddenly there was a click and silence.

"Hello?" Davy asked. No one answered. "Hello? Sarah?" It was apparent that she had hung up on him. Frowning, Davy hung up the phone. "Well, that didn't go as planned."

"Davy!" Micky yelled from the other room. "Get over here, we've found Peter's music room!"

* * *

"Maybe can we have a little more bass here?" **Peter** asked. They were all listening to 'Me and Magdalena's' instrumental track. "It's sounds a little weak there." **Mike** agreed with **Peter's** claim and the two of them began discussing what they could do to strengthen the sound.

That was when **Micky's** phone went off. **Micky** casually pulled his cell phone from his pocket and checked to see who was calling. A frown appeared on his face. He quickly excused himself and went into the hall to answer the phone. "Sarah? What's up?"

"Uncle Micky!" Sarah gasped. "Something weird is going on here!"

"What do you mean, Sarah?" **Micky** asked.

"I…" Sarah took another big breath, trying to calm herself down. "I just got a phone call from my father!"

"You what?!" **Micky** asked. "That's impossible!"

"It was definitely him, and it definitely scared me!" Sarah said quickly. "He called from Uncle Peter's house number. I thought it was him calling, but the man insisted he was my dad! He sounded exactly like him!"

"Now Sarah, calm down," **Micky** said coolly. "Would you like me to go get Peter so you can tell him yourself?"

"No, I think you should call the police! Either Dad is haunting Peter's house, or someone broke into his house and is doing a very good job of scaring me!" Sarah sounded like she was on the verge of tears.

"Now Sarah, it's nothing to be worried about," **Micky** said, trying to think up a clever lie. "I'm going to go ask Peter about it right now, stay on the line." **Micky** took the phone away from his face and cursed. He quietly opened the studio door and asked for **Peter** and **Mike** to come out into the hallway for a second.

"What's going on?" **Mike** asked once they were alone.

"Davy called Sarah, and now she's freaking out. She thinks your house is haunted, Pete!" **Micky** explained.

"Davy _called_ her?!" **Peter** exclaimed. "How stupid are those kids?!"

"Hey, don't bring us into this!" **Mike** tried to joke, but it fell flat.

"Let me talk to her," **Peter** demanded, holding out his hand. **Micky** gave him the phone. "Hey, Sarah? This is Peter, I've got Micky and Mike with me. I'm going to put you on speaker phone and I want you to tell me everything that happened, okay? Breathe, Sarah." **Peter** put the phone on speaker. "We're ready, Sarah."

"Well, I was sitting at dinner with my family when my phone rang. It said it was from you, so I answered it. The guy on the other end said he was my father. At first I thought it was Uncle Micky playing a joke on me, but the man was dead serious! He would not stop saying that he was my dad! The worst part is, he did a really good job at it. He really did sound like my dad! Uncle Peter, I think your house is haunted. No one can possibly pull off a good impression of my dad."

"Alright," **Peter** said, looking at **Micky** and **Mike** with silent panic. "There is a perfectly logical explanation for this, Sarah."

"What?" Sarah asked, "What is this perfectly logical explanation for giving me a heart attack?"

"Well," **Peter** began, "Micky is a very good actor, that's all." **Micky's** eyes widened with betrayal as **Mike** held back his surprise. "Mike bet him twenty bucks he couldn't pull off a good Davy. They needed to see if it was really believable. I guess you win, Mick." It was **Mike's** turn to show his disapproval and betrayal.

"It was a joke?" Sarah asked, hurt. She grunted into the phone. "If you're going to play a cruel joke like that again, call Jessica or one of her kids, not me!" Angrily she hung up the phone. The three men stood in the silence of the hall for a moment.

"Well, that happened," **Mike** said.

"Does this mean I get twenty bucks?" **Micky** asked. **Mike** punched the old man in the shoulder. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding…"

"We can't have Davy calling people," **Peter** said sternly, handing **Micky** back his phone. "I'm afraid of who else he has tried to call."

"He might be trying to get a hold of himself," **Mike** theorized. "Which is impossible."

"One of us is going to have to tell him the truth," **Peter** frowned. "That's the only way we'll get him to stop."

"It's going to break his heart," **Micky** whined. "Not only because he's dead, but because we lied the first time."

"I know, but he needs to find out. I think we can continue to keep it from the others, but Davy has the right to know," **Peter** scratched the back of his neck. "Who is going to tell him?"

"I think you should, Pete," **Mike** deadpanned. "They are living in _your_ house at the moment."

"I agree with Mike," **Micky** quickly added, making sure that he wasn't an option. "You're good with that kind of stuff."

"What kind of stuff?!" **Peter** exclaimed. "I have never had to tell anyone that they _died_ before!" 

"You know what we mean," **Micky** defended. "You're the sensitive one, Mike's the angry one-"

"Hey!" **Mike** interrupted.

"And I'm the crazy one," **Micky** finished, ignoring **Mike.** "So it is only right that you tell him."

 **Peter** rolled his eyes. "Fine, I'll do it. Come on, we've got work to do."


	8. Chapter 8- The Talk

Chapter 8- The Talk

 _ **Author's Note: This is another interactive chapter, so have YouTube ready! From this point on I will be including the publisher in the 2nd hashtag. Please disregard any 'Made for TV' facts in the YouTube videos, these Monkees are based on the TV characters, but the point and message presented is the same. Besides, we all know the truth, so it will make watching the videos 10x more personal. Enjoy!**_

 _ **Also, this chapter is dedicated to Lisa Boon, who was the one who originally showed me the Monkees 'Through the Looking Glass,' performance. Sorry for the crummy video, it's the only version I could find.**_

* * *

When **Peter** entered his house, it was quiet. Too quiet. He looked over into the living room and saw three men sleeping on each of the three couches. **Peter** smiled upon the sleeping men, beginning to feel like a father to them. He was certainly their elder and they all needed looking after in this strange world. Especially Davy. The entire ride home, **Peter** kept rehearsing the conversation in his head, but he couldn't figure out how the Englishman would react. It worried him. He also worried about how the other three would react if _they_ found out. He was hoping it wouldn't come to that. **Peter** also worried about this 'trial' the young men were forced into. The book said, and **Peter** clearly remembered this, that the Monkees had to return a book to its owner. However, for the life of him, **Peter** could not remember who the owner of the book was. He had a difficult time remembering anything from the story, even though he had read it a hundred times. It frustrated him.

He counted the men sleeping on the couches. _Michael, check. Micky, check. Me, check. Davy?_ **Peter** looked around, concerned. Where was Davy? Suddenly, a thousand possibilities demanded his attention. _Someone kidnapped him. He ran away to go find his older self. The others trapped him in a room somewhere. He was hurt. He was chasing after a girl he saw pass on the street._ **Peter** felt panicked. He quickly ventured into the kitchen, his intention to call Micky on his house phone, but he quickly saw that was unnecessary. The missing Monkee slept quite soundly in his kitchen, his head lying on the island counter.

 **Peter** gave a sigh of relief. Davy was safe. **Peter** set his bags on the counter and watched the boy sleep. His conscience was screaming out to him that he should wake him. He needed to wake him up and tell him about the past. Nervously, **Peter** nudged the boy. "Davy?" Davy didn't reply. "Davy?" **Peter** shook him a little bit. "Davy, wake up. We need to talk."

Davy groaned, digging his head further into his arms. "No Peter, let me sleep in. We can practice later."

"Not that Peter, Davy," **Peter** said sternly. "Wake up, I need to talk to you right now."

"Can't it wait till the morning, Pete?" Davy moaned, still not looking up from his arms. "I'm sleeping."

"No," **Peter** insisted. "We need to do it now, while the other three are asleep."

Davy finally moved his head, poking one eye over his arms. Finally registering the fact that it was the older **Peter** speaking, Davy raised his head and sat up on the stool he was on. "What?"

"Davy, we need to talk. This is going to be difficult for both of us, maybe more for me than for you," **Peter** said, sitting down next to Davy on the swivel stool beside him. "There is some critical information we've been keeping from you."

"We as in…?" Davy asked.

"Us old Monkees, Micky, Mike, and I," **Peter** answered, an idea popping into his head. He began to set up his laptop that had been sitting in one of his bags. "You see, you're not really retired and living in England."

"Then where am I?" Davy asked, giving **Peter** all of his attention.

"Davy, you're…" **Peter** tapered off, the words not leaving his mouth. **Peter** turned and faced Davy, but refused to meet his eyes. "Four years ago… Back in 2012… You… You passed away."

"Sorry," Davy replied. "What?"

"You died of a heart attack," **Peter** looked the man in the eyes, tears forming in his. "You're gone, Davy. You've been dead for four years, that's why we had you record that song in the studio, and that's why we made you guys _prove_ you were the Monkees. You're too good to be true." **Peter** turned back to his computer, pulling up a video on his computer. "Just… just watch this." **Peter** pushed the computer towards Davy and pressed play.

 **#Davy Jones Dead: 'Monkees' Star Unexpectedly Dies of a Heart Attack in Florida #ABC News**

They both listened to the video, but **Peter** didn't dare to watch. The Monkees were nobodies, and then when they became famous, Davy was the most famous out of the four of them. The old man smiled when he heard the old Davy's voice come from the computer. **Peter** remembered when Davy was on _the Brady Bunch,_ and he laughed when the reporter called him a 'heartthrob.' He certainly was that, married or not. Thousands of memories flooded the old man's mind, until the young and alive Davy Jones spoke.

"So I've been dead… for four years, you said?" Davy asked.

 **Peter** looked up from his daydream. "Yeah, four years now. You passed away February 29th, 2012. You know, this album we're making, we're making it for you," **Peter** took hold of the computer and pulled up another video. He slid it back for Davy to watch.

 **#The Monkees at 50 #CBS Sunday Morning**

This time, **Peter** watched Davy watch this video. He laughed when Davy's jaw dropped at the fact that they had outsold the Beatles and the Rolling Stones, and that they made four #1 albums. He watched as Davy nearly cried as the host reviewed how their band had been recommended by Honeywell to Pachyderm Records, and their rights as musicians began to be destroyed. **Peter** smiled to himself as he listened to their history and their music be restored after going on tour, and he finally began to tear up when they mentioned Davy's death. After the video ended, Davy turned to **Peter,** tears in his eyes.

"So that's what's going on, yeah?" Davy asked, choking on his words.

 **Peter** took a deep breath. "Yeah, it is."

Suddenly, 'Daydream Believer,' began to play on the computer, thanks to the auto play. Davy turned his attention back to the computer, tears streaming down both the faces of **Peter** and Davy.

 **#The Monkees - "Daydream Believer" (Official Music Video) #The Monkees**

The video ended and both men remained silent for a moment. Then, Davy spoke. "May I ask a question?"

"Sure," **Peter** said, pausing the video before the next video could play.

"So, you three still do stuff for me, even though I've been dead for four years? Why?" Davy looked up, choking on his words. "Wouldn't it be better… Better to mourn and move on?"

"Oh Davy," **Peter** laughed, putting a hand on his shoulder. "We remember you because we wouldn't have been successful without you. When we became famous, all those years ago, you became the face of the Monkees. Everyone loved you. We would be seen as monsters if we forgot to remember you. You stood up for the group when we were close to losing our record deal. You helped us become successful. Without you, Micky, Mike, and I would have killed each other. We're really making this album for you. Without you, there wouldn't be a 50th anniversary."

Davy took in this information, his heart beating against his ribs with all the force it had. After a moment, Davy asked. "Next question, how did they get that song, when we just recorded it today?"

 **Peter** knew he was referring to 'Love to Love.' "We really did find an old version of it, but when we release the album, we're going to put your version on it. The press needed that song for posterity."

Davy nodded. "Peter…"

"Yes?"

"Thank you, for everything."

 **Peter** gave the boy a large, grateful smile. "You're welcome Davy. Don't worry, no one will ever forget you. Even when the rest of us die off. You and your music are timeless."

The two sat in silence for a minute. Then, Davy pulled the computer towards him. "May I?" **Peter** nodded, then explained to him how the site worked. Davy tried it out. **Peter** suggested a certain video and Davy searched and found it according to **Peter's** instructions.

 **#The Monkees - Through the looking glass (live 1989) #1967ngre**

"Why did you make me watch that?!" Davy exclaimed after the video ended.

"Just making sure it actually happens," **Peter** laughed, succeeding in scaring the young man. "If you'd like, you can explore some more. I'm going to go to bed, it's nearly one in the morning." **Peter** stood, and watched as Davy began to browse his options. Inside, **Peter** felt he was doing the right thing. Davy was uncovering his future, learning about what needed to be done. Tonight, Davy was going to learn about the greatest story ever told.

 **#Davy Jones (The Monkees) Greatest Story Ever Told #april porter**


	9. Chapter 9- The Other Three

Chapter 9- The Other Three

 _ **Author's Note: I'm a freshman in college now. Expect chapters to be posted not-so-often. I also apologize for any potential grammar mistakes. It's late and I don't always catch everything. Please and Thanks.**_

* * *

"Awe, look at him!"

"Isn't he so cute?"

"What should we do with him?"

"Put him on the couch, maybe?"

"Yeah, let's do that."

Micky, Mike, and Peter all stood around the sleeping Davy Jones, debating on what they should do with him. Davy had fallen asleep at the counter, his book being used as a pillow. A slim, black device sat behind the book, closed. Mike grabbed Davy's shoulder and pulled the boy up. Davy continued to sleep.

"Wow, he's really out, isn't he?" Mike commented, letting the boy's body lean back onto the counter.

"I wonder how long he was up last night," Peter pondered, taking the book before Davy could lay on it again. This was the first time the three of them had really gotten a good look at the thing.

"What does it say, Pete?" Micky asked eagerly.

"Uh," Peter said, scanning the page first. He then began to read, "Peter waved me good night and left me alone with this device. On it was my entire life from beginning to end. On it held every story ever told about Davy Jones and every story ever told about the Monkees. I was eager to see what happened to each of us after the Monkees. I think it's an awful idea to think about, but from what I have seen, there was some point in time where we were apart." Peter looked up from the book. "I don't think I should be reading this."

"No, come on Peter, go on!" Micky urged. Mike nodded in agreement with Micky.

Peter sighed, but continued. "I first searched for myself. There was a lot of music and a lot of television appearances and interviews that came up. I was about to click on a video, but then decided against it. I knew too much already. I decided to search for information about Peter instead." Peter quickly snapped the book shut and shook his head. "Guys, I'm not going to read this! I don't want to know about my future! No way, no how!"

"It's okay Peter, we'll read it for you," Micky proposed, taking the book from Peter.

"Hey! I don't think you should be reading it either!" Peter cried out, grabbing onto the book. He and Micky were now playing tug-of-war with the book.

"Will you two knock it off?" Mike asked, grabbing the book and yanking it out of their grasp. "You're going to ruin it! Now I'm going to put this right here, and none of us are going to touch it, understood? Davy obviously had a talk with the old Peter last night about stuff we don't need to know about. Let's just go put Davy on the couch so he can sleep and we can make breakfast for us and Peter. Understood?"

"Yes Mike," Peter and Micky said in sync. Peter and Micky began to carefully move Davy off the stool while Mike moved the book and the device to another counter so he could have room to cook, though it wasn't like he didn't have enough room, the kitchen was huge!

As Micky and Peter carried the sleeping Englishman into the living room, a not-so-happy **Peter Tork** trudged into the room. He looked at the two men, then at the sleeping man, and then back at the two men carrying the sleeping man. "What the hell are you two doing?"

"Putting him on the couch," Micky explained, bobbing his head towards the couch. "He's out cold."

"Don't put him on the couch!" **Peter** exclaimed. "Follow me, I've got a guest bedroom you can put him in. Those couches are terrible for sleeping on."

"I slept fine," Micky said, giving Peter a weird look.

Peter shook his head. "I didn't."

"See?" **Peter** said, gesturing towards the younger Tork.

"But he's you, that doesn't count," Micky complained.

"Hey!" Both Peters yelled. **Peter** pointed his finger at the young Dolenz. "I'll have you know that you're the only person who has ever enjoyed sleeping on those couches, Micky Dolenz!" **Peter** led them a little farther down the hall till he got to the door he was looking for. He opened it and let Peter and Micky take Davy in. The boys set Davy on a bed and covered him before quietly leaving. Once the door was closed, Peter spoke.

"Can you tell us what happened last night?" He asked, looking at his future self.

"What are you talking about?" **Peter** asked, making his way back to the kitchen with the others in tow.

Micky added his two cents as they entered the kitchen. "We read in Davy's book that you and him had a little chat last night. We want to know what happened."

"Yeah!" Mike added, overhearing the conversation while mixing some eggs and milk. "Maybe it will help us get home!"

 **Peter** stopped in his tracks. What was he supposed to do? Lie again and again? He gave a huge sigh and continued, "Look, what happened last night is strictly between myself and Davy. It doesn't concern you-"

"If it concerns Davy, it concerns us!" Mike exclaimed. **Peter** avoided eye contact by preparing breakfast. Mike grabbed the book and opened it to the last page with words on it. "You let Davy learn about our future, why can't we? It's not like we'll remember it anyways, it says right here that Davy looked us all up!"

"That's because Davy's situation is different that yours, Michael," **Peter** said, trying very hard not to lose his temper. He was instantly regretting his decision from last night, though it had to be done.

"How? How is it different?" Mike questioned, surprisingly angered by this conversation. "If anything, _Davy_ should be the one who should not be learning about our future. He said it himself that he _would_ remember everything because he's _not_ here."

"Look," **Peter** said, trying to choose his words carefully. "The talk that David and I had last night was extremely personal, and…" **Peter** looked down at his hands, choking up at the thought. "It still hurts, even thinking about it. You all are so close," **Peter** finally looked up to see the confusion and concern in the young mens' eyes. " _We_ were so close. When Davy… When Davy left, it took a toll on all three of us. With the four of you here, Davy is affecting us the most. If it were just the three of you, we would have never believed that you are who you say you are. Davy made us believe it was you, really." The old man smiled, now speaking to himself. "No one can replicate his voice and no one ever will."

"What did you talk about?" Peter asked, extremely concerned for the wellbeing of his older self. All action in the kitchen stood still, waiting for a reply.

A tear formed in **Peter's** eye. He didn't answer the young man at first, lost in his own memories of the young lad from Manchester. When he finally answered, his voice cracked at the beginning, but held together through the end. "We talked about what happened after he retired from the Monkees. The others and I felt he needed to know about everything that happened, and why we are making this album without him."

"And why are you making this album without him?" Micky asked.

 **Peter** groaned. He really did not want to say it out loud. Four years was real enough, but saying still hurt. "He thought it would be best if we didn't. Davy has his reasons, and Mike, Micky, and I respect those decisions. Davy asked me to keep those reasons private, and I'm going to keep my word."

"Our Davy or your Davy?" Peter asked.

"My Davy," **Peter** said softly. He took a deep breath and grabbed the bowl of eggs Mike was previously mixing. "Let's make some breakfast boys, we have a long day ahead of us."


	10. Chapter 10- The Dream

Chapter 10- The Dream

 ** _Author's Note: I do not own 'Rio,' 'Miracle,' or 'Point of No Return.' I also do not own 'Pool It!' I think that covers all the copyright facts, if it doesn't, well, chances are I probably don't own it. I'm just using it in the story. Thanks!_**

* * *

All he can do is run. ' _Run, Davy, run. You have to keep going_.' He can't seem to stop, even though Micky, Peter, and Mike are all yelling for him to stop. He just can't. His breathing is heavy and his focus is elsewhere. He's not sure where he is or what he is doing here, he just knows he's running and he's terrified.

"Davy! Please stop running!" He could hear Peter call out to him.

Suddenly, in front of him is a tall, bearded figure in a white suit. The man holds his out his hand and sings, "And I think I will travel to Rio, using the music for flight. There's nothing I know of in Rio, but it's something to do with the night."

Davy quickly dodges him and continues to run.

"Davy! We need to talk to you!" He can hear Micky scream.

"I can't!" Davy found himself yelling. "I have to get away…"

A new figure steps into view. Davy can easily tell it's Peter, but his hair is a bit longer and he is now in a purple suit. Playing his guitar, Peter sings, "Is it a miracle you were looking for? A miracle? Did I hear you say that you'd been praying? Can't you tell the miracle's occurred? You think I am not the man you prayed for, but I am here to bring the word."

Davy dodges him as well and keeps on running. He has to get away. Where are _his real friends?_ The future is haunting him, he thinks. He can't comprehend how all of this happening. Was it all because **Peter** let him learn what he shouldn't have learned in the first place? Was it because Davy knew too much? Was it because he was scared of the future? Was he afraid of the band breaking up? To be honest, he was.

"Davy, just stop!" He hears Mike yell.

"I _can't!_ " He cries, coming up to another figure. He is an older man in a tan suit with a tan fedora. He twirls and dances, singing, "But now there's no leavin' you, I know that for a fact. I'm at the point of no return and for me there'll be no turning back." Davy dodges him as well.

Suddenly, something pushes him to the floor. He falls flat on his back, all the motion stopping around him. He looks up to see a familiar face looking down at him. The face smiles and holds out a hand to him. Subconsciously, he takes the hand and is pulled to his feet.

"Better?" The face asks. Davy nods and looks behind him to see that he and the old man are all alone.

"Wh-what's going on here? Who were those men?" Davy found himself asking, even though he was pretty sure he knew the answer.

"Those are my mates," The man said in a familiar British accent. "Don't mind them."

"Where am I?"

"You're dreaming, Davy," The old man said confidently. "I know that for a fact. You're trying to take in everything you learned last night. It scares you, I know. It scared all of us when it finally happened."

"When what happened?" Davy asked. There was something he was missing. Something **Peter** didn't tell him, something he didn't find out while browsing the internet last night. There was a missing piece to the puzzle, and Davy _needed_ to know what that piece was.

The man shrugs, but smiles. "I don't know, this is _your_ dream, remember? You tell me."

"But I don't know what happened!" Davy exclaims, running his hands through his hair. "My friends though, they need me. They were calling out to me."

"Dream, remember?" The man says, placing a hand on Davy's shoulder. "They're not really there. I'm not really here. I'm dead, remember?"

Davy's heart sinks and he suddenly finds himself rising. Everything around him is getting brighter and he can feel himself waking up.

"Take care of my book for me!" The man calls to him before Davy finds himself fully conscious of his surroundings.

* * *

Davy sat up in bed, groggy and confused. He looked around, trying to figure out where he was at. It was plain, but decorative at the same time. ' _Did someone put me to bed last night?'_ Davy thought to himself, pulling aside the blankets and swinging his feet over the side of the bed. He was still wearing the clothes he had purchased the day before with Mike, Micky, and Peter. Then it clicked.

"Peter?" Davy asked aloud. He slowly made his way to to the door and opened it, finding himself in a corridor full of doors. "Micky?" Looking up and down, he didn't know where to start looking. "Mike? Is anyone here?" He cautiously stepped out into the hallway. It was quiet, too quiet. Davy cautiously opened the door across from him, which revealed a bathroom. He quietly shut it and moved on to the next one. That one was an empty bedroom. The next one was a small study. The next one, however, caught Davy's attention. It was a music studio. He slipped in, silently closing the door behind him.

The room was filled with instruments of every kind. Cases were stacked against the wall and guitars sat on their stands. A piano sat elegantly in the corner, surrounded by bookshelves of folders and sheet music. In another corner was a desk that housed a computer and a record player. By that record player was a shelf specifically for the records. Curious, Davy strolled up to the records and began to finger through them, taking inventory of the records that were in store for Peter's future. Davy remembered that the older men told them _not_ to do this, but it was already too late for Davy. **Peter** practically gave him permission.

"What the heck is this?" Davy muttered to himself, pulled out a particular record, titled 'Pool It!' The cover claimed that it was Peter, Micky, and himself on the cover. They were in a swimming pool, posing for the shot. Davy flipped the record over, surprised to see that they used their legs as the back cover. He looked down at the bottom right hand corner to find that this particular album was recorded in 1987.

' _Who let us think this was a good idea for an album cover?'_ Davy thought to himself, placing the record back. However, another thought occurred to him. He pulled the record out. ' _Maybe it was because Mike wasn't there to be the voice of reason.'_ This thought tore Davy to pieces. What would make the four of them split up? What would make Mike quit the band or refuse to rejoin? Davy knew from last night's research that he eventually got on board for one more album in the 1990s, but why was Mike so hesitant? Davy didn't understand.

He found himself sliding the record out of its sleeve. He admired the circular soundtrack before placing it on **Peter's** record player. Davy replaced the sleeve and dropped the needle.


	11. Chapter 11- The Plan

Chapter 11- The Plan

 _ **Author's Note: I don't own Back to the Future. Have fun and enjoy!**_

* * *

"It's great that you got us the day off, Mick," **Peter** said to the old Monkee over the phone. "Yeah, you guys come over whenever you want. I'll be here. It's not like I'm going anywhere with these four here."

"Hey!" Micky said offensively, shoving a piece of toast in his mouth. "We're not children!"

" _We're_ not children," Mike proposed, pointing at Micky with his fork. " _You_ on the other hand…"

Peter laughed, but suddenly choked on some of the egg he had in his mouth. **Peter** rolled his eyes. "My point stands," he said to himself. "I'll leave the front door unlocked for you two, just come-" **Peter** stopped in the middle of his sentence. "What is that?"

"What?" Peter asked after swallowing his food.

"Is that music?" Mike asked.

That's what **Peter** was trying to figure out. It sounded familiar, but he couldn't put his…

"Put your heart and soul where I can see them shine!" **Peter's** stomach dropped. Oh no. He didn't.

"Micky, I have to go…" **Peter** said quickly. "No time to answer questions, bye." He hung up the phone and ran straight out of the kitchen. Mike, Micky, and Peter looked at each other, confused. However, they all got up and followed the surprisingly speedy old man.

"Put your heart and soul where I can see them shine. I wish you'd put your heart and soul where I can think they're mine. I wish you'd put your heart and soul where I can see them shine," The record player blared. Davy was smiling at the record player, holding the sleeve in his hands.

"What are you doing?!" **Peter** yelled, swinging the door open and scaring the young man.

Naturally, Davy jumped. "Don't do that!" He exclaimed, dropping the record sleeve. As he reached down to pick it up, **Peter** walked in and stopped the record player. He took the record off, snatched the sleeve, and placed the record back in the sleeve.

"What's the big deal?" Davy asked, obviously grouchy.

"Yeah, what's the big deal?" Micky asked, surprising both Davy and **Peter.** He, Mike, and Peter stood in the doorway, watching the scene unfold. "That's some pretty groovy music you've got there, why can't Davy listen to it?"

"Yeah! Why can't I listen to it?" Davy repeated.

"Because," **Peter** sighed, replacing the record on the shelf. " _We_ could hear it all the way in the kitchen, that's why." He gave a gentle nod towards the three men to try and give Davy a hint.

When it clicked, Davy's eyes widen. "Oh," he muttered. He looked down at his feet and thought for a moment. His dream came back to him. He knew this wasn't one of the songs from his dream; he couldn't remember those songs. However, this one struck a chord. Suddenly, Davy came upon a revelation. "Peter?"

"What?" **Peter** asked in his best 'angry-dad' voice.

"I think, I think I've figured something out, and I have you to thank for that." Davy looked up at him, then at his friends. "I think I know what we have to do to get home."

"How'd you figure that out from him yelling at you?" Mike asked, arms crossed and skeptical.

"I think," Davy said, taking 'Pool It!' back off the shelf, "I think it's because there is a story that shouldn't be told, and it should be returned to the person who originally wrote the story. Peter doesn't want you to listen to this story," Davy held up the album, "because you're not the ones who originally wrote the story."

"What's that supposed to mean, Davy?" Micky asked.

Davy addressed the old man first. "You let me do all of that searching last night because I have to make sure it happens. Especially that thing with Micky in the dress."

"I'm in a what?!" Micky asked, surprised. Davy ignored him.

"You said so yourself, Peter. It has to happen." Davy looked at **Peter,** hoping he knew where Davy was going with this. "I'm the owner of that book." Davy turned back to his friends. "The gypsy gave me that book so I could keep track of everything that happens. I'm the author, so to speak. It's _my_ book, so we have to return the old book to the old me."

"Davy, we can't-"

"We have to."

Silence fell upon the five men. Mike, Micky, and Peter stood, confused. **Peter** stood with fear and uncertainty. Davy stood with guilt and regret. He didn't want to tell his friends, and he could tell **Peter** didn't either. He already had to tell Davy once.

"So all we have to do is give old Davy the old book, right?" Micky asked. "What's the problem here? You said he was retired in England. We can just mail him the book, can't we?"

"It's not that easy, Micky," **Peter** sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

"What's not that easy?" **Mike** asked, he and **Micky** appearing behind their younger selves.

"We have to return the book to Davy," Davy explained. " _Your_ Davy."

"How are we supposed to do that?!" **Micky** exclaimed.

"I just said we could mail it to him! What's wrong with that plan?" Micky almost yelled.

"We _cannot_ mail it to him, Micky," **Mike** said. "Peter, do these four not know yet?"

"I told Davy last night, Mike," **Peter** sighed. "These three don't know. We agreed to only tell Davy."

"Well now this concerns all four of us, so ya'll better start explaining what the hell is going on here," Mike said, frustrated.

 **Mike** cautiously put a hand on his younger self's shoulder. "Maybe we should go into the living-"

"No," Mike said, shoving the hand off. "If this is important, it can be said right here, right now."

"Michael," Peter moaned, "Don't start-"

"No," **Peter** sighed. "Mike's right. It can be said right here, right now." The old man made eye contact with his old friends. "But I'm not the one who is going to tell them." He quickly backed up, his hands in the air.

"Hey!" **Mike** and **Micky** whined.

 **Mike** sighed. Mike, Micky, and Peter backed into the room, near Davy, so they could give their attention to the old man properly. **Mike** took a deep breath before speaking. "Well, you see boys, Davy isn't really retired in England, like Micky said he was." **Mike** glared at **Micky** for emphasis. "He… well, you see…" This was harder than he thought it was going to be. "We were going to tell you in the beginning, but then Micky screwed it up, so we kept this from you." **Mike** sighed again. "Davy… well, he passed away due to a heart attack back in 2012."

"If it makes you feel any better," **Micky** butted in, "He passed away in his sleep so he didn't really suffer as one would from a heart attack."

The three young Monkees stood there, their eyes full of surprise and horror. They looked from Davy to their older counterparts, then back to Davy. This went on for a few minutes, till one of them finally decided to speak.

"So I guess that means we can't return the book to its original owner if he's dead…" Micky said quietly. "What are we supposed to do now?"

"I have an idea," Davy said. "But I don't like it very much."

"Then let's not do it," Peter said quickly.

"You haven't even heard it yet, Peter," Davy argued.

"Yes, but if you don't like it then I don't see why it's worth doing," Peter proposed.

Mike rolled his eyes. "What's your idea, Davy?"

Davy took a deep breath. "We take the book and bury it at my grave."

Peter and Micky quickly shook their heads. "No, no, no! Let's _not_ do that," Micky stated.

"That's a good idea, Davy," **Mike** said, "But the only problem with that is that you were cremated _and_ we don't exactly know where _you_ are."

"Then we call my family," Davy said, "Easy."

" _No,"_ **Peter** scorned. "Not easy. You scared the heck out of Sarah yesterday with that stunt you pulled trying to call her. How are _we_ supposed to explain to your family that we need to bury a book with your ashes in order to return four men who look a lot like the young Monkees back from which they came. They'll think we've hit the deep end."

"Why don't you three questioned them till they tell you, then we go without them knowing?" Micky proposed.

"What in the name of sanity do you mean by that?" **Mike** asked.

"Call one of them up and lead them to talking about Davy, then simply ask where his was buried. Make it seem like you're just simply curious," Micky explained. "Like casual conversation."

The three old men looked at each other, quite surprised at the young Dolenz's proposal. **Peter** raised a finger, slowly pushing his glasses up. "You know… That just might work."

"Of course it will work!" Micky proclaimed happily.

"How do you know?" Davy asked.

"It's going to work because _I_ came up with it," Micky smiled joyously at the room. Mike rolled his eyes and Davy shrugged.

"Alright," **Peter** said. "Which of us is going to call Jessica?"

 **Mike** and **Micky** stood there, wide eyed. They looked at each other, then at **Peter.** "You should." They said in sync.

"Me?!" **Peter** asked.

"Yes, you," **Mike** insisted. " _You're_ the one who said we needed to help these kids."

"It was Micky's idea!" **Peter** accused.

" _Technically,"_ **Micky** corrected him, "It was _his_ idea. Not mine." **Micky** pointed at his younger self for emphasis.

"You're the same person!" **Peter** exclaimed.

"We don't know that," **Micky** tried. This resulted in a hit over the head by **Mike.** "Alright, alright… But I still think Peter should do it."

"Why me?!" **Peter** proclaimed.

"Because they would never expect Mike to call them up and you already told them I called Sarah up and scared her. Word probably travels fast, so neither of us would be good candidates, and obviously those four can't do it," **Micky** reasoned.

 **Peter** rolled his eyes. He had a point. "Fine. I'll go call Jessica. You two keep these four out of trouble. Go take them to a movie or something."

"Cool!" Micky exclaimed. "Finally, we'll be able to learn something from our future."

"Don't get too excited," **Micky** warned. "We'll see what's on at the theaters first. If Mike and I feel like you four shouldn't be seeing it, we'll probably watch one of the Beatles movies, maybe."

"We could show them _Back to the Future,"_ **Mike** suggested.

"We could… We'll see. Come on you four, out to the car. Let's leave Pete alone so he can do some digging for us," **Micky** announced, he and **Mike** herding the four Monkees out of the house. When the door closed, **Peter** sighed and dialed Jessica Jones's number.


	12. Chapter 12- The Widow

Chapter 12- The Widow

"I can't believe they're making me do this," **Peter** mumbled to himself as the phone rang. The house had been silenced rather quickly, to **Peter's** satisfaction. "Come on, Jessica, pick up please…"

"Hello?" A voice on the other side of the telephone asked. **Peter** had to admit, he wasn't Jessica's biggest fan, but he couldn't change history.

"Hello Jessica, this is Peter Tork," **Peter** said. He thought for a moment, wondering why she didn't recognize the number, but then he remembered that he had gotten a new once since Davy's death and he never bothered to give it to Jessica. He assumed there was no need. He did give her kudos for picking up a number she didn't recognize, though.

"Oh, Peter! Hello!" Jessica said from the other side. "How have you been?"

"Just great," **Peter** said, trying to hide any sarcasm that might leak through. He cleared his throat. "How have you been?"

"Could be better, could be worse," Jessica admitted. "Though I can't assume you called me up because you wanted to chat. What do you need from me?"

"Oh Jessica," **Peter** sighed. "You know us so well, don't you? I bet you can't guess why I called."

"It has something to do with my husband, doesn't it?" She asked.

"When does it not? I have to thank you again, though, for letting us use Davy's voice on the new album. Mike, Micky, and I are overjoyed that you gave us permission."

"Well, it's what he would have wanted," She paused for a moment. "Are you calling me to ask permission to use something else of Davy's? Look, I already told you that you can use anything of Davy's for this album, what more could you want?"

"It's not a matter of asking permission to use something, persay," **Peter** said, overjoyed that she was getting right to the point instead of playing around with idle chit-chat for hours. Now he just had to come up with an excuse. "Mike, Micky, and I, we wanted to… Well…"

"What is it, Peter?"

"Well," **Peter** toughened up. "The guys and I wanted to visit Davy's grave, since we feel it wouldn't be proper to not honor him in that respect. The only issue is, we don't know what you guys did with him after he passed away. I was hoping that you tell us where you buried him so we could respect him properly."

"Really?" Jessica said, surprised. "None of you struck me as the kind of people to do such a thing."

"Well, the world is full of surprises, isn't it?" **Peter** replied, mentally referring to the four young men who fell out of their closet.

"I guess so," Jessica said. She didn't say anything for a moment.

"Jessica?" **Peter** asked, prompting her to continue. He must have strucken some chord with her.

"Oh, right," She said. "Davy's… well, it's easier to show you rather than tell you."

"What?" **Peter** blurted out, meaning to say something else. He quickly corrected himself. "Um, I mean… uh…" What did she mean? Why couldn't she just tell him where Davy was buried?

"It's okay, Peter," Jessica said. "It's just easier on me. When did you guys plan on coming?"

"As soon as possible. There is something that came up that demands our attention before we can continue recording, and it involves visiting Davy."

"Really?" Jessica asked. **Peter** rubbed the back of his neck. He was getting into deep waters, being as vague as he was. He knew he made a mistake. He should have just kept his mouth shut. Why did he have to say that?

"Yeah…" **Peter** said. "It's kind of complicated."

"Peter," Jessica's tone of voice changed from curious to demanding quick. "I was married to Davy Jones. Complicated is my middle name."

 **Peter** sighed. He wasn't good at lying. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me," She said a little too quickly.

"Look," **Peter** said trying to take her off his case. "I think _this_ would be easier to show you than tell you. You really would not believe me if I told you."

"Now Peter-"

"Now Jessica," **Peter** interrupted. "Look, I'm respecting your choice to show me rather than tell me, so you should respect my choice to show you rather than tell you. It's really more complicated than you think. Unless you want to just tell me where Davy is instead of showing me."

The line was quiet for a moment. She was probably fuming on the other end. Jessica Jones was like that. "Fine," She finally said. "I respect your decision to keep quiet. When should I be expecting you?"

"I'll text you the details as we go along," **Peter** told her. "I'll talk to you later."

"Talk to you later, Peter," Jessica said before they hung up. **Peter** let out a deep sigh. That's not how he wanted to end that conversation with her, but he knew well that Jessica was a difficult woman and there would have been no way he could have convinced her to just tell him where Davy was buried. Now he was going to have to break the news to the others. At least they were a little closer to sending the Monkees home than they were before. Now they were on a path to somewhere. **Peter** quickly then dialed the number for their manager and told him that the three of them were going to take a small break from the album to go pay tribute to Davy. He added a bunch of emotional stuff about how they owed it to Davy and so on. Their manager ate it up. Once **Peter** took care of all and any legal stuff involving the new album, he called up **Mike.**

"Hey Peter, how was your talk with Jessica?" **Mike** said when he picked up.

"Not how I hoped," **Peter** admitted. "But I did get us cleared to go to England for a week so we don't have to worry about the album."

"What do you mean, though?" **Mike** asked. **Peter** then heard **Mike** yell at someone on his end of the line. "Micky, don't do that! No, not you, the younger one." This caused **Peter** to crack a smile. "Next time, Pete, you're on babysitting duty."

"Hey, you voluntold me to call Jessica. You brought this on yourself," **Peter** laughed.

"Yeah, I know," **Mike** sighed. "So anyway, about Jessica. Did you get the location of Davy's grave?"

"No," **Peter** reluctantly said. "She said it would be easier to show us than tell us. Easier on herself, really. I kind of slipped up, though."

"Peter, what did you do?" **Mike** asked, his tone changing.

"I may have slipped that this whole thing demands our attention more than the album, and when she asked what it was, I just gave her the same excuse she gave me. That is would be easier to show her than tell her."

"So you're implying that we _tell_ Jessica Jones that we have four young people who look like the Monkees from the 1960s."

"Kind of? I mean, it's still technically up to us what we tell her. We can still tell her something completely different. I tried being as vague as possible because I have no ideas."

"Peter!" **Mike** exclaimed.

"Sorry!" **Peter** replied. "We'll think of something, though. We always do."

"You mean we used to," **Mike** insisted. "We're not as young as we used to be. Our brains don't work quite as fast."

"That won't stop us. We need to help these kids, Mike. It's impossible for them to have an exact copy of that book, which means their the real deal. We can't just let them do this on their own. They would never survive here."

He heard **Mike** sigh from the other side of the phone. "Fine. We'll come back after the movie is over. We've been waiting here for a little bit for it to start. It's killing me, babysitting these five kids."

"Five?"

"Micky counts as two, remember?"

"Right," **Peter** laughed. "I'll see you after the movie."

"See you later," **Mike** said before hanging up.

 **Peter** sighed. This was going to be rough, but he knew they could do it. He decided to take this time to relax. He started to brew some coffee and picked out a good book to read. He had a feeling this was going to be the last time he was going to be able to relax in a while.

* * *

 ** _Author's Note: I'd like to say this now just to emphasize the difference between the real, real Monkees and these old Monkees. Jessica's not going to be roughly 35 like Davy's real wife would be. She also doesn't live in Florida. Changing things up a bit to keep it fictional. Thanks for reading and I hope you continue!_** _ **:)**_


	13. Chapter 13- The Bump in the Road

Chapter 13- The Bump in the Road

 ** _Author's Note: Again, don't own the Monkees, don't own Walmart. Thanks and Enjoy!_**

* * *

"Peter? Peter, are you home?" **Peter** could hear **Micky** call from a distance. He vaguely remembered going to his bedroom to take a nap after finishing a few chapters of his book. The old man grabbed his glasses and sat up on the edge of the bed. The time to relax was over.

"In here, Mick," **Peter** called, standing and walking out of his room. He met with the familiar face of his old friend in the hall. "How was the movie?"

 **Micky** chuckled. "Mike and I decided not to take them to a movie after little me almost set a claw machine on fire in the theater lobby. We went back to my place and played some tunes instead. They sure do like their music."

"How did Micky almost light a claw machine on fire?"

"He overworked it. He also got mad and started shaking it. We figured that it would be best to leave after the machine began to smoke."

 **Peter** laughed. Micky's antics, whether he be young or old, always surprised him. **Micky** continued to speak as they walked down the hall. "Anyway, Mike told me that you had a nice little chat with Jessica."

"Ha," **Peter** scoffed. "Talking with her didn't get anywhere. We basically said, 'I'll show you my secret if you show me yours.'"

"Great," **Micky** sighed. The two old men walked out into the living room, where **Mike** sat with Peter, Mike, Micky, and Davy. "I do have a concern about all of this, Pete. I think it was Peter who brought it up on the car ride here."

"What is it?" **Peter** asked as he and **Micky** sat in the living room with the others.

"How are we going to get them to England?" **Micky** asked.

"Security is impossible in airports, remember?" **Mike** pointed out.

"All of our licenses are expired in 2016," Mike added.

"We don't even have passports," Peter added.

"We technically don't even exist," Micky added. "According to what Mike and Micky told us about airline security, it's going to be absolutely impossible for the four of us to go to England."

How could he have overlooked this? Why didn't he remember this from the book? **Peter** groaned and ran a hand through what was left of his hair. "I did the best I could, fellas. Jessica is a strong independent woman who I personally don't want to pick a fight with. Asking for her to bring her dead husband's ashes to California would not only have been rude, but also upsetting. We _have_ to go to England so you four can go back to 1966."

"And how are we going to get them to England, Peter?" **Mike** asked. "Give them fake identities? To get the proper paperwork for that is going to take months, and even if we did that, we'd get caught having them register for fake identities. We're at a dead end, Pete."

 **Peter** groaned again, rubbing his eyes. "I can see that, but we can't stop here. We just can't. I don't remember a lot from what happened in that book, but I do know that we get these four men home. It's going to happen. We cannot give up."

"What are we going to do, then?" **Micky** asked. "It's not like we can put them in our luggage. We'll get arrested on the spot for that."

"I don't know, I wish I would have known this earlier so I could have persuaded Jessica to bring his ashes here."

"Well why didn't you think about it earlier?" Peter asked.

"I don't know. I'm old, I don't think as quickly as I used to."

There was a deafening silence for a moment. They all felt guilty. It wasn't just **Peter's** fault, after all. None of them brought it up sooner. They all wished _someone_ would have thought of that sooner. After the silence went on for a full minute, Davy decided to speak. "I think I have a solution, but I doubt it will work."

"What is it, Davy?" Mike asked.

"We'll take anything at this point," Micky added. His mind was completely blank. According to what **Mike** and **Micky** told them on the drive here, travelling on an airplane was basically like having your life analyzed under a microscope. You were scanned, your luggage was scanned, and you had to strip down to your pants and shirt in order to even get on the plane. In fairness, they also explained _why_ they were so nosy, which made sense. The United States definitely didn't want any more planes to be hijacked, blown up, or missing. The only problem was that this all caused a problem for the Monkees, who technically didn't exist in 2016. Especially for Davy who was dead by this point.

"We'll need to go back to Walmart," Davy proposed, shifting in his seat.

"Sorry?" Mike asked. "Did you say _Walmart?"_

"Yes," Davy explained. "That's where I met with the gypsy again. She needed to tell me something, so she found me there. She was dressed as an employee, I think. If we find her again, we can ask her how we get to England. It's the least she can do for us, since she put us in this mess in the first place."

"What is she going to do?" Peter asked.

"I don't know, but if anything, she will at least give us some clues."

The silence settled in again. After a moment, **Peter** let out a sigh. "Well, I guess we don't have any other choice. To Walmart, then?"

"We can walk," **Micky** said, standing and heading over to the door to put on his shoes. The others silently followed. The three old Monkees had no idea who they were looking for, so they had to rely on the four young Monkees to spot the gypsy. The three men prayed that they could find the woman and help get these kids out of their hair.

* * *

The seven men walked down the street, all of them entangled in a blob on the right side of the sidewalk. The old Monkees knew for certain where Walmart was, even though the young Monkees had already been there once, so they lead the group to the store. As they did before, the young Monkees tried holding on to one another in order to make sure they didn't lose anyone. After Micky had tripped for the third time, there was a massive, ear-bleeding scream.

A voice followed the scream. It was a girl's voice, very high pitched and sharp. "It's the Monkees!" It screamed. Suddenly, a young woman appeared. Her golden eyes touched on Davy before they turned their attention to the three older men with them. "I can't believe it's actually you! I am such a fan! I have been listening to your music for what feels like ages now. My parents actually introduced me to your stuff. I love your work! Can I get an autograph?" She ran her mouth just as fast as Micky could. Her hands moved just as fast as her mouth. Her long, ginger hair bounced with her movements. She looked like any other young adult on the street, clad in her jean shorts, high-fashion sandals, and somewhat revealing tank top. A purse jingled at her side and was opened when the girl fished for a pen and paper.

The three older men agreed, seeing as though they had time to spare. The woman's behavior was not rare, but it still made the old men slightly uncomfortable. It wasn't everyday that a practical _teenager_ wanted an autograph from _them_. As the men signed the woman's paper, the three young Monkees noticed something off about their forth.

"Oh no," Mike sighed.

"Here we go again," Peter commented.

"Oh Da-vy," Micky sang, shaking his shoulder. "She's out of your league."

"She's not even in his generation," Mike joked.

Davy's only reply was a head shake and a small, "No."

 **Mike** was the last one to sign the paper and he handed it to the young woman. As she rambled her thanks to the old men, Davy stepped up and interrupted her. "Hey, we were just looking for you!"

At his words, the woman deadpanned, turning to Davy. "Finally! I was waiting for you to speak up."

"Hold on," Micky said, stepping forward. " _You're_ the gypsy?"

"Don't you recognize me, Mr. Dolenz?" The gypsy said, rolling her eyes and flipping her hair. "Who else has golden eyes like mine?"

"Not the point," Davy said, cutting Micky off from anything he was going to say. "We need your help."

"Oh?" The gypsy raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms as well.

"We need to get these four kids to England without getting in trouble with TSA," **Micky** explained.

"Ooh," The gypsy sighed. She kept her mouth shut as she thought. After a moment, she smiled. "Well, we can't have you guys getting in trouble, now can we? Here's what we'll do. Mike and Mike, meet me…" She looked around for a moment, then spotted a restaurant across the street called _The Robin's Nest._ "There. Let's meet there at, oh," She looked down at her watch. "Let's round up to three o'clock, shall we?"

"Wait, you want Mike and I?" **Mike** asked. "Isn't that a little paradox-ish?"

"Oh come on," The gypsy sighed. "Having you two on the same street is already a threatening paradox as it is. Making you two go out and have lunch together isn't such a big deal. We'll meet there at three, and I'll give you everything you need to get to England. Deal?"

"Uh, I don't-" Mike began, but Davy cut him off.

"That sounds like a plan! Thank you so much. Mike and Mike will see you there. Let's go guys. Have a nice day," Davy rambled, pushing Mike towards the direction they came from. Micky and Peter picked up on this and began walking in that direction, too. The older men followed.

"Alright, bye boys!" The gypsy smiled and waved as they walked away. "By the way, thank you again for the autographs!" When the old men turned back to say 'you're welcome,' she had disappeared from view. The boys walked back to **Peter's** house, not sure what to do next.


	14. Chapter 14- The Robin's Nest

Chapter 14- The Robin's Nest

"Well, I'm not very fond of this idea," Mike admitted, rubbing the back of his neck as he and **Mike** walked down the street.

"Because of the uncomfortable vibe we have between us or because you have no clue what the hell is going on?" **Mike** asked.

"Both."

"Me too," **Mike** admitted. That morning they really did try convincing the others to let someone else go in their place. Specifically Davy. He seemed to know more about this girl than the rest of them, and Mike was the most paranoid about what other problems she could bring. It was her fault they were stuck here, anyway. With his protests, **Mike** had backed him up one hundred percent. He didn't want to go, either. He tried to use the excuse that **Micky** or **Peter** would follow more than he would. However, their excuses were shot down by desperate pleas and Micky throwing himself to the floor, pretending to cry over Mike's feet. With reluctance and dread, they left Peter's home to go meet the mysterious gypsy at the Robin's Nest.

They reached the Robin's Nest and Mike opened the door for his older self. They walked in and requested a table for three, stating that they were waiting for a young ginger to come by soon. The waitress politely noted their request and sat them down at a small round table with four chairs near the back of the restaurant. She handed them menus and ran off.

"What looks good?" **Mike** asked, desperately trying to make small talk.

"This barbeque pulled-pork sandwich looks good," Mike commented, both he and his older self engrossed in the menu.

"Oh? Where's that?" **Mike** asked.

"Inside on the right under the sandwiches."

"Oh, I see it now. That _does_ look good."

This time a waiter approached the table. "Good afternoon, my name is Oliver, and I will be your waiter for this evening. Can I start you off with something to drink?"

"Dang, a cup of coffee would be nice," Mike said to himself, but Oliver wrote it down anyway.

"I'll have that too," **Mike** said to their waiter. Mike quickly looked up, realizing that Oliver was going to bring him a coffee whether he liked it or not, because he was walking away from the table.

"When do you think that girl is going to show up?" **Mike** asked, looking back down at his menu.

"Soon, I hope," Mike admitted.

As if on queue, the elegant ginger approached the table, this time in more modest attire. The gypsy sat down between the two men, a large manilla envelope in her hand. "Good afternoon, Mikes." She said, slapping the envelope on the table and sliding it towards the younger Nesmith. "In this envelope is everything you need to get to England. Birth certificates, drivers licenses, social security cards, the works. All you need to do is match up the names with the faces and you'll be good to go."

Mike picked up the envelope and peaked inside. "How did you manage this?!" He asked, pulling out a driver's license with Davy's face on it.

"I have my ways," The gypsy smirked, tossing her bangs to the side with a wave of her hand. "Just make sure you don't lose them. It was difficult to get those as it is."

The waiter came back with two mugs of coffee. He placed them in front of the Mikes and pulled out his notebook. "Are you all ready to order?"

"Uh," Mike started. "Can I get the barbecue pulled pork sandwich with…" Mike looked at the menu again. "A side of coleslaw and fries."

"I'll have the same," **Mike** said immediately after.

"And for you, ma'am?" The waiter asked the gypsy. She shook her head. "I'll only be here a minute. Thanks, though." The waiter rolled his eyes and walked away.

The gypsy turned her attention to **Mike.** "Now, I'll just tell you this now, don't waste your money on buying them tickets. Their tickets are in the envelope. Just worry about you, Micky, and Peter."

"You bought us tickets, too?" Mike asked, looking into the envelope again.

"I'm trying to make this as easy for you as possible, Nesmith," The gypsy stated.

"But you sent us here in the first place!" Mike exclaimed, closing the envelope and setting it in front of him. "If it wasn't for you, the guys and I could be home sleeping, or cooling off at the beach since it was a hundred degrees out at that circus!"

"It was a carnival, Mike," The gypsy deadpanned.

"Same difference! Why would you want us _here?_ What does this have to do with anything?! I don't understand why we're here!" Mike exclaimed. However, he let his voice get a little out of hand, which drew a little bit of attention from other tables. **Mike** gave his younger self a glare to be quiet. Mike stiffened and calmed down.

The gypsy sighed. "For your information, I'm trying to _help_ you, not hurt you. I'm not the one who sent you here. Honest. Yes, I was in the tent and yes, I said all those things about the trials and told you what I could, but I'm not running this operation. I'm doing my best just to get you four out of these trials _alive."_

"Then who did send them here?" **Mike** asked.

The gypsy sighed. "I wish I could tell you. I can only give you so much help. I'm doing my best. I _want_ you guys to succeed and pass these trials."

"Why are we even taking these trials?" Mike asked, his anger still lingering despite **Mike's** stern looks of warning to calm down.

"I can't tell you. I _want_ to tell you, but I _can't_ tell you." The gypsy said, her frustration rising as well. "Just take the envelope, do your thing, and go burn the old Davy's book. That's all I can tell you. Now, I can say that you'll see me again, but only when you need me." The gypsy peered down at her watch. "Like now, I need to leave you," She stood, pushing in her chair. "I wish you all the best of luck and I promise, I wish I could help more. I'm on your side. I _want_ you to win. I can't stress that enough. Please Michael, don't see me as the enemy." The gypsy looked around the restaurant and frowned. "I have to go now, goodbye." With that, she walked off, running when she left the building. Mike and **Mike** watched as she ran past the window.

"Who is that woman?" **Mike** asked his younger self.

"I don't know," Mike said blankly.

Soon their waiter arrived with their food. When he placed the food before them, **Mike** noticed his eyes seemed to linger on the younger Monkee. Suddenly, the waiter asked, "You look awfully familiar. Do I know you?"

Mike and **Mike** passed wide eyes of panic upon each other. Mike quickly looked up at the waiter and said, "No, I don't think so."

"No, I swear I recognize you from somewhere," the waiter said. "What's your name?"

"My name?" Mike said, quickly and nervously taking a sip of coffee. "Robert."

"Robert?" The waiter asked.

"Yeah," Mike said, "Robert Blessing."

"You don't look like a Robert. You look more like a Michael to me," The waiter said. He then seemed to wave it off. "Would you guys like some more coffee?"

"Yes please," **Mike** answered, giving his younger self another look. "Thank you."

"No problem, I'll be right back with the pot."

"Robert Blessing?!" **Mike** hissed.

"What?!" Mike whispered. "It's the first thing that popped into my head."

 **Mike** groaned. "The first thing that popped into your head was your _first name?"_

"My what?" Mike said, suddenly taken aback by the statement.

They both sat in silence for a moment. They each looked each other up and down, both surprised by this new information. How come **Mike** thought his first name was Robert? How come Mike didn't know his first name? The unease of the situation set in. Something was wrong.

To do something, Mike quickly grabbed the envelope and opened it, searching till he found his license. He looked at it for a moment, then set it on the table. "Well, the irony of the fact is, I guess Robert Blessing is my new name till we get out of here." On the license, accompanied by his face was the name Robert Blessing, under that Mike's other details. He hadn't seen the card until now. Dropping the topic, he placed the license back into the envelope and he and **Mike** began to eat.


	15. Chapter 15- The Airport

Chapter 15- The Airport

 ** _Author's Note: This is another interactive chapter, so have YouTube ready!_**

 **#The Monkees - Cuddly Toy 2 # Joe Monkee**

Everyone laughed as Davy danced happily to his own words. He sang, Micky sang, Peter sang, **Micky** sang, and **Peter** sang. Everyone was having a blast, especially when Davy tripped and fell. However, they kept singing. As the song came to a close, they could hear the front door open in the living room. Micky jumped from behind the drums he sat at. "Mike's back!" He ran out of the room, Davy and Peter in tow. Laughing, **Peter** and **Micky** followed.

When they reached the living room, to their surprise, they found **Mike** setting his younger self on the couch, one arm around the unstable man. Micky stopped at the sight of their leader, which caused Davy and Peter to run into him from behind, all three of them crashing to the floor. They all popped up, startled not only by their fall, but by the state Mike was in.

"What happened to him?!" Davy asked.

 **Micky** laughed. "I recognize that face anywhere! He's high as a kite. Mike, man, what did you make him take?"

"Nothing, I swear!" **Mike** defended.

"You swear, do you?" Mike laughed, spinning and looking at the old man. "Which swear words do you know? I know…" He began to count on his fingers, muttering swear words under his breath.

"I think it was something in his food at the restaurant," **Mike** proposed. "He said his fries had an off taste about them, but I just figured it was some seasoning or the way they were prepared. I've had fries before that tasted funny because they were over seasoned, but not to this extent!"

 **Peter** walked over to analyze the high Monkee. "What could he be high on?"

"Beats me, we ate all of our food," **Mike** stated, sitting in an armchair away from the physcotic Monkee. "Mine tasted fine. Can't imagine why anyone would want to make him high."

"You know who you remind me of?" Mike said sternly, poking **Peter's** nose. "You remind me of my friend Peter, except you're waaay older."

"That's great Mike," **Peter** deadpanned, checking Mike's eyes. "Well, I think we'll just have to wait for this to wear off."

 **Micky** laughed. "This will be fun. Remember the last time Mike got high?"

"What happened the last time Mike got high?" Peter asked.

"He threw the best damn party I had ever been to, that's what happened," **Micky** laughed some more. He obviously enjoyed Mike in his drugged state.

Davy, Peter, and Micky walked up to their leader to get a better look at the crazed man. When Mike saw Davy, he exclaimed, "Davy! You've grown! Guess we can't call you 'Tiny' now, huh?"

"Sure Mike," Davy said, giving a panicked look to Micky and Peter, but patted Mike on the shoulder. "What do we do with him till the drugs wear off?"

"Make sure he doesn't hurt himself," **Peter** said. "Mike has a tendency to do that when he's high."

"Hey!" **Mike** argued. "I certainly do _not."_

"Yes," **Peter** argued back. "You certainly _do._ I suppose you don't remember, but one time you almost jumped off the studio roof because Rodney said your guitar was out of tune."

"And that's why we don't smoke before recording," **Micky** pointed out. "There was also the time where you nearly shot us all because you thought we were attacking you."

"And the time when you ran into almost every single damn wall in the studio because you couldn't find the door." **Peter** added.

"No Peter, that happened more than once," **Micky** corrected. "I think the third time that happened Davy was so high that he was trying to stop him from leaving the group even though he didn't have any intention of leaving at the time."

"Guys, I think you should stop with the horror stories," **Mike** proposed. "I think you're scaring them." They all looked over at Davy, Micky, and Peter, who all had terror written on their faces.

"Ah, well, moral of the story is, don't do drugs, kids," **Peter** said, smiling to himself. "Though you will anyway."

"Are you sure they're us?" Peter whispered to Davy. Davy shrugged.

"Micky?" Mike asked randomly.

"Yes Mike?"

"Why does your hair do that curly thing?"

Micky rolled his eyes and everyone else laughed. **Peter, Mike,** and **Micky** all made a note to never go to the Robin's Nest ever again as Mike began to pick at Micky's hair, Micky swatting at him viciously. They didn't quite understand how Mike got high, but they also decided not to question how **Mike** didn't get high on the same food.

* * *

"Alright, does everyone have their tickets?" **Peter** asked quickly, counting the four men standing before him, making sure he had everyone. They all nodded and confirmed that they had their tickets. "Do you all have your licenses?" They all confirmed that they had their licenses. "Passports?" Yes. "Alright, let's go. Mike and Micky are meeting us at the airport."

"This is going to do wonders for my headache," Mike moaned, picking up his backpack and adjusting his wool hat.

"I can't believe you're still hung over, man," Micky laughed at him.

"It's different for everyone, Micky," **Peter** stated, throwing his own personal suitcase in the back of his car. Each of the other Monkees had their own carry ons, since they didn't come with much to begin with. Davy had his book and the others had the clothes they originally came in. They also snagged various books and notebooks so they could at least keep themselves occupied on the plane, especially Micky. Micky had calmed down generally with age, but with the young one tagging along, that might trigger some childish actions from the old man. **Peter** and the others decided it was better to be safe than sorry.

At the airport, **Peter** let the Monkees out at the front doors while he went to park. "Don't run off!" He had said as he pulled away. Mike, Peter, and Davy were determined to follow **Peter's** order. Micky on the other hand…

"Guys! Look at that car!" Micky exclaimed, unconsciously following a car that drove past them. Mike and Peter grabbed him and pulled him back.

"No! Bad Micky," Mike said, keeping his grip.

"But Mike!" Micky whined. "Look at that beauty. You have to admit, she's more beautiful than our GTO."

Mike shrugged, not denying or agreeing with his friend. They could see **Peter** in the distance, walking up to the doors with his suitcase at his side. When **Peter** approached them, he insisted that they go inside and get through security and wait for **Mike** and **Micky** on the other side.

Luckily for the Monkees, they didn't have any trouble getting through transportation security. They all behaved, the employees didn't question their identifications, and none of them got pulled to the side for a random pat down. The five of them sat in the gate of their plane, patiently waiting for **Mike** and **Micky**.

"May I sit here?" A tall, fragile blonde asked Davy, gesturing towards the empty seat next to her.

"Ah, of course," Davy said, nodding. He felt overwhelmed by her beauty, but this didn't go unnoticed.

Not looking from his notebook, where he was vigorously writing a song, Mike gave Davy a warning. Davy blushed and turned to the girl. "My name's David," Davy said, remembering to go off the name on his fake license. "David Dodger. Yours?"

"Rose," The girl smiled at Davy. "You sound English."

"I am, my mates and I are going to England for a few days."

"Really? Where in England are you from?"

"Manchester," Davy answered honestly. This girl couldn't know anything about Davy's perplexing situation. "Where are you heading?"

"London," Rose said, looking back and forth between Davy and her cell phone. "I'm transferring to Cambridge University, but sight seeing in London for a few days first."

"You're in college?" Davy said. "That's fantastic! What are you majoring in?"

"Acting," Rose blushed, flattered by Davy's interest in her life.

Suddenly she began to cough. Davy's eyes grew as he began to panic. "Rose?" He asked. She continued to cough, quickly digging through her bag and pulling out a blue bandana. Rose placed it over her mouth and continued to cough. "Do you need something? Can I get you anything?" Rose didn't respond to him. However, she quickly stopped coughing.

"Sorry," She said sheepishly. "That happens." Davy couldn't help but notice a dark stain bleeding through her bandana that now sat on her lap.

"Are you okay?" He asked with concern.

"I will be, yeah," Rose said, more to herself than Davy.

A young man then walked up to the two of them. "Rose, there you are," He said to her.

"Hello Owen," Rose said. "Owen, this is David. David, this is Owen." Owen held his hand out to Davy.

Respectively, Davy shook it. "Boyfriend?"

"No, we just met today, actually," Rose told him. "We found out that we're sitting next to each other on the plane."

"Yeah, and I found this great little restaurant down there for us to catch lunch at, like you promised me," Owen said. Davy wasn't getting a great vibe from this man, but he of course was a complete stranger to him. "You know, you look awfully familiar," Owen said to Davy.

"Do I?" Davy asked, surprised.

"Yeah… I can't put my finger on it, though," Owen said. "What's your name again?"

"David Dodger," Davy said.

"You don't look like a Dodger," Owen commented absently, "You look more like a Jones to me. Shall we go, Rose?"

"Sure," Rose said, standing and grabbing her carry on. "It was nice meeting you David. Maybe we'll meet each other again someday.

"I'd like that," Davy said, even though he knew very well they wouldn't. He would be an old man by the time she was born. The chances of them meeting were one in a million. However, longing to speak to her again, Davy watched as Rose and Owen walked away. This allowed him to watch as Rose suddenly collapsed, Owen catching her and frantically calling for help. Davy jumped to his feet, running towards them.

"Davy!" Mike cried out, jumping out of his seat and chasing him. Micky and Peter quickly followed. **Peter** was about to, but then decided against it. He wasn't going to dare risk leaving his stuff unattended.

By the time all four of them had gotten there, paramedics had gotten to the scene and were checking her out. To Davy's surprise, Owen seemed very composed despite the girl had just collapsed in front of him. After a moment, one of the paramedics declared that Rose was dead.

"What?" Davy asked, surprised. "She can't be!"

"Davy," Peter said, putting a hand on his shoulder, mainly to keep him still.

"No pulse, she's gone," The paramedic said. The group began to disperse as the paramedics loaded the body onto a gurney.

"What just happened?" Davy asked, stunned.

"Who is that guy?" Mike randomly asked, ignoring Davy's question to ask his own. He was caught on the sight of the young man who was being interrogated by a paramedic.

"He said his name was Owen, he was taking Rose to lunch," Davy answered him, all four of them watching as Owen left with the paramedics.

"He looks like the waiter from yesterday," Mike commented blankly. "He looks a _lot_ like him."

"I'm sure it's just a coincidence, Mike," Micky said, unsure of himself.

"Are you sure?" Peter asked.

The three men turned to Peter. "What do you mean?" Mike asked.

"Well," Peter began. "Mike, you said you met someone who looked like that guy yesterday. After that you got high off of the fries that man served you. Now we just witnessed a guy who was collected about his girlfriend dying in front of his eyes."

"How are those related in any way?" Micky asked.

"I don't know," Peter confessed. "I feel like they might be, though."

"I don't know Pete," Davy said. "Mike, what was your waiter's name?"

"Uh, Oliver I think? I don't remember that well."

"So their names aren't even the same, so it can't be the same person," Micky said. "It's just a coincidence."

"Come on, let's get back to our stuff," Mike said, leading Davy back towards their chairs. Micky and Peter followed. They all pretended that it was just a coincidence, but Peter and Mike could feel something was off. Mike knew something had to be off, that guy looked _exactly_ like his waiter from yesterday, whether he was high or not. Peter just seemed to _know_ these kinds of things, too. Peter felt something was wrong with this picture, but he couldn't put his finger on it. When they got back, **Mike** and **Micky** had arrived and they sat with **Peter.** They didn't bother to mention their worries to the elders. Mike, Micky, Davy, and Peter all just sat down and continued their meaningless actions while waiting to board the airplane and fly to London.


	16. Chapter 16- The Girl

Chapter 16- The Girl

Honestly, **Mike, Peter,** and **Micky** still had no idea how they were going to explain the Monkees to Jessica. They all had their suggestions, but none of them made any sense. In the end, all seven of them agreed that the best thing to do was to tell the truth and see what happens.

The plane ride was calm and uneventful, as it always is. Both Peter and **Peter** slept, Micky and **Micky** read, Mike and **Mike** wrote and composed, and Davy spent his time reading his book and contemplating the last forty-eight hours. He could still hardly believe that he was here, on a plane, in 2016. He was on a plane, with two versions of his bandmates. He was on a plane, with a magical book in his hands that recorded history for him. This was happening right now before his eyes. It felt almost like a dream.

Davy touched the leather cover of the book ever so gently, letting the rough texture guide his fingers. He then opened it, looking at the first page. It had no title, but it did say, " _When the trials are won, this life will hide away."_ Underneath the small inscription it read, " _documented by David Thomas Jones."_ This addition to the book was made after Davy realized _he_ was the owner of the book. He still could not get over the fact that the book did all the writing for him.

He reread the words, trying to connect everything he knew. There were three trials, and they were currently going through the first one. Davy still didn't understand why the first one was taking place in the future, but that wasn't a major concern of his. He knew they had to return the old book **Peter** now owned to **Davy's** grave, and from context, they might have to burn it since **Davy** was cremated. What bothered Davy the most was what was going to happen _after_ they returned the book.Davy couldn't imagine the possibilities that were in store for them. How were they going to get to the next trial? What would happen once the trials were done? What _were_ the next two trials? The gypsy was even more vague with those trials than she was with this one. With this one at least they knew what they _physically_ had to do. The possibilities were endless, and Davy couldn't help but wonder what would happen next.

"May I have your attention," A female voice spoke over the intercom of the plane, her voice almost impossible to comprehend. "We have begun our descent into London, please fasten your seat belts and turn off all electronic devices. A stewardess will come down and collect any trash you may have left. Thank you for flying with us and we hope you enjoy your stay in London."

There might have been more, but Davy hardly paid any attention. He nudged Peter, who slept beside him. When looking across the aisle, he could see **Micky** waking **Peter** up from his nap. Davy quickly stored the book in his backpack and fastened his seat belt.

When they landed, they all eventually got off the plane and congregated by the gate's entrance. **Peter** was on the phone with Jessica, trying to figure out where they were going to meet her. When all seven of them made it off the plane, **Mike** and **Micky** lead the group away so they could go pick up their luggage.

"Yeah, we'll try and meet you there," **Peter** said to the cell phone. "Yeah, just brace yourself, though… What do I mean? You'll see. See you in a little bit, bye."

"It's nice of her to be picking us up from the airport," Micky commented when **Peter** got off the phone.

"Yeah, it is," Davy added, wondering what his future wife looked like.

 **Mike, Micky,** and **Peter** froze. "Uh oh," **Peter** said to them, all thinking the same thing.

"What is it this time?" Mike asked, looking at the old men suspiciously.

"We didn't tell her that there were seven of us," **Peter** deadpanned. "God, I hope she has enough room in her car for seven."

"What are we going to do if she doesn't?" **Micky** asked.

"We could rent a car," **Mike** proposed.

"Yeah, but none of us actually enjoy driving in London, let alone _want_ to." **Peter** said, waving off **Mike's** idea.

"Why is that?" Micky asked.

"It's because they drive on the opposite side in the States, Mick," Davy said to him.

"What?" Micky asked.

"He meant that they drive on the left side here in England, while we drive on the right side," Mike explained to the drummer. "Besides, not to bash on you guys, but wouldn't it be a little dangerous to have any three of you driving?"

 **Mike** shrugged. "We do it anyway. Our licenses haven't been taken yet, so I assume we're healthy enough to drive."

 **Peter** rolled his eyes. "Come on, guys. Let's go meet Jessica. She said she would meet us by the statue of Elizabeth II near the entrance." **Peter** began walking away, his suitcase in tow. The old men and young men followed him, praying that **Peter** knew where he was going.

They could see the elegant statue of the country's monarch from a mile away. They all maneuvered their way towards it, hoping that **Peter, Mike,** or **Micky** would spot Jessica. **Micky** was the first one to spot her, veering off in a different direction, the rest of them hurrying behind.

"Jessica!" **Micky** yelled over the commotion. An old woman looked up from the book she was reading, smiling when she saw the old face she knew well.

"Well, if it isn't Micky Dolenz and his trusty co-hearts," She laughed, hugging him when he reached her. She hugged **Peter** and **Mike** as well, welcoming them to London. She was slightly smaller than all three of the older men, but still seemed to be taller than Davy ever could be. Her dyed brown hair was pulled back into a half-pony, revealing her grey roots down the side of her face. She looked happily upon the faces of old friends with dark, brown eyes that seemed almost too young to be in the body of such an old woman.

"Jessica," **Peter** began, scratching his head. "Uh, we have some kids we'd like you to meet."

"We're not kids!" Micky argued.

"You are," Mike commented, him and the others smiling.

"Not helping, Mike," Micky growled.

"Anyway," **Peter** said, rolling his eyes. "I'd like you to meet some… uh…" He looked to his older counterparts for help.

"These kids are with us," **Micky** said. "Jessica, this is Michael, Micky, Peter, and Davy," He pointed to each Monkee in turn, them smiling and raising a hand to indicate who they were. "They're the Monkees."

To the young Monkees' surprise, the old woman laughed. "You three are a riot! What are they? A tribute band? You brought a tribute band with you? Oh, that's so unlike you guys." Her laugh was almost offensive.

"They're not a tribute band," **Mike** said. "They are literally the Monkees. From 1966. We don't know how they got here, but I swear it's them."

"Michael, that's impossible," Jessica laughed again, looking at each of the young men in turn. "I have to give you points for style and accuracy, though. They really _do_ look like you guys."

"We are them!" Mike protested.

"Yeah!" Micky added.

However, the woman continued to laugh at them. This obviously didn't go the way they wanted it to. They frowned, unsure what to do. After a moment, Davy stepped forward, silencing the woman by taking her hand.

"Jessica," He said, looking into her eyes. "I know it's hard to believe. It's really us, you know," Davy fell silent for a moment. "Sorry, I just…"

"Oh no…" Mike moaned.

"Your eyes," Davy continued. "Your eyes are beautiful. They are like two dark garnets, shined to perfection. I could stare at them for hours." He then slowly moved another hand to the side of her face, caressing it. "Your perfect skins matches that only found in my dreams. Your presence, it's been what I've been searching for all my life."

Jessica was stilled. Her eyes looked down on the young man, tearing up from his words. She didn't speak, but only watched as Davy smiled at her. "My name is Davy Jones, and I think I love you."

Both versions of Mike, Micky, and Peter watched in amazement as the young Davy Jones wooed his future wife. In fairness, it was awkward that she was nearly seventy and he was nearly twenty-one. However, if it got the point across, none of them were going to intervene.

Jessica looked down at her feet, tears still swelling in her eyes. "Those were the first words Davy ever said to me when I first met him years ago," she cried. "How did you know?"

"I didn't," Davy explained. "Those were the first words that came to mind. So if those are the words that came to mind then, then those are the same words that come to mind now. Even though I haven't met you yet in 1966." She gave a small, choked laugh. "Do you believe me, Jessica?"

Instead of answering Davy, she looked up at **Micky, Mike,** and **Peter.** "You three always pull the most impossible stunts. How did you do this?"

"We didn't," **Peter** confessed. "They kind of just fell out of our closet one day."

"They're the real deal, Jessica," **Mike** added.

Jessica laughed again, taking her hands away from Davy to wipe her eyes. "I don't believe it… Two sets of Monkees! I don't have enough room for the lot of you in my car, though. I only have enough room for three more."

"We were afraid of that," **Micky** mused.

"Hey, no big deal," Mike said hopefully. "Some of us can stay here and you can make two trips."

"Yeah!" Peter added happily.

"You go, Mike!" Micky said at the same time.

"Will you four be okay here on your own?" Jessica asked, still recovering.

"Ah, I don't think that's a good idea," **Mike** intervened. "One of us should stay here with you."

"How about," **Micky** proposed. "I'll stay here with Davy, Peter, and Mick-"

"No," Both Mikes said immediately.

"What?" Both Mickys whined.

"We're not leaving _you_ alone with yourself, Micky Dolenz," **Mike** said sternly.

"It'd be better if you went with Jessica and Micky, Peter, and I stay here," Mike added.

"How about we do this," Jessica said suddenly, "I'll take the young Micky and Peter with me, along with you, Mike," She motioned towards the old man to specify. "And Micky, you and Peter can stay here with Mike and Davy. Then the ratio is even and no one is doubled up."

"And most importantly Micky isn't being left alone with Micky." **Peter** laughed.

"Exactly," Jessica laughed as well. "Come on, I'll take you out to my car." She gave Davy once last glance before turning around, expecting **Mike,** Micky, and Peter to follow. **Mike** followed, and after Mike shoved the two young men in that direction, Micky and Peter followed. They disappeared into the crowd, leaving **Micky, Peter,** Davy, and Mike alone.

The two older men sat themselves down on the bench. Mike followed to do the same, but noticed Davy still looking off in the direction that Jessica and the others had gone. Mike sighed, walking towards the young man and placing a hand on his shoulder.

"You alright?" Mike asked.

"Who is she?" Davy asked absently.

"She's your future wife," **Peter** said from the bench.

"No, no, I get that," Davy shook his head. "But, I mean…" Honestly, he wasn't sure what he meant. Davy knew better than anyone that he had a curse for falling for strangers, but there was something different about this woman. Yes, she was far older than he, but there was a spark, something familiar about her that Davy couldn't name. When she walked away, he felt like he had lost something near and dear to his heart. He felt crushed, confused. Why did he have such strong feelings for a woman he had never met before? Maybe it was something more. Davy turned away from Mike. "I think I need some time to think."

"Man, you've got all the time in the world," Mike tried to joke.

Davy shook his head again and began to walk away. He needed to be alone. Or as alone as you could be in an airport. He needed to think without Mike, **Micky,** or **Peter** telling him what to think. He needed to decide for himself what was going on.

"Where you goin' man?" Mike yelled at him as Davy put distance between them.

"To go think," Davy yelled back, not turning around.

Mike gave **Micky** and **Peter** a panicked look. **Micky** looked behind him to see the Englishman's form grow smaller and smaller. "Go after him!" **Micky** insisted.

"Give him his space," **Peter** quickly corrected him. "But keep an eye on him. We don't want to go losing him in a huge airport such as this."

"What about you two?" Mike asked, unsure if it was a good idea to leave two elderly men alone.

"We're in our seventies," **Micky** stated. "We can take care of ourselves. Davy's young, unstable, and stupid. He needs someone to watch him."

"And frankly, you're the most responsible out of the four of us," **Peter** added.

"Four of them," **Micky** corrected.

"Same difference," **Peter** absently stated. "Go on. Don't lose him. We'll be here."

Mike nodded and ran off. **Peter** gave **Micky** an annoyed look. "Unstable _and_ stupid?"

"We all were at that age. Especially Mike," **Micky** laughed. "Remember the accident? That was all their fault because they were young and stupid."

 **Peter** rolled his eyes, pulling out his phone. **Micky** did the same, the two of them absently taking care of whatever notifications popped up on their phones. What else do you do in 2016 when you wait?


	17. Chapter 17- The Missing

Chapter 17- The Missing

Davy honestly wasn't sure where he was going to go. He knew very well he had to stay inside the airport. His brain told him he should have stayed put with Mike, **Micky,** and **Peter,** but his heart told him to get away. Suddenly everything felt like it was crashing down on him. It felt like reality had finally struck. In this world, he was dead. Plain and simple. He wasn't supposed to be here at all. When he looked into Jessica's eyes, he felt like he had found everything that he was looking for. In that moment, he found the love of his life, but she didn't see it that way. He felt her disbelief, her fear. She did not see him the way he saw her, because from her point of view he was long gone. He was dead to her. Technically, he was dead to everyone. He didn't belong here. Davy felt so out of place he wasn't sure what to do with himself. " _Just focus on burning the book so we can go home,"_ Davy thought to himself, still weaving through crowds of people, walking nowhere. His heart ached for home. His heart ached for the familiarity of their beachside house. His heart ached for their simple, yet complicated, music. Most importantly, his heart ached for relief. Relief of this crazy adventure. He wanted to go home.

He found a bench near a set of bathrooms and sat down, placing his backpack at this feet. He watched people walk mindlessly past him, unaware that they were walking past a dead man. Most of these people were not even thought of yet from where Davy came from. It baffled him to see the future, to see what it will become. The people he will never know, the people he was supposed to never see. He watched as people passed him, unaware of the universal catastrophe he was causing. Did they even know who he was? How educated were these people? To them, he could be just another dead man in the history books, if he even made it into the history books.

"Hello," A soft, alto voice said dominantly in Davy's ear. He looked up towards the direction of the voice, finding a young, beautiful woman standing there. She stood tall and elegantly, her blonde hair falling neatly over her shoulders. She carried a maroon bag across her chest, holding onto it with one hand. Her style was foreign to Davy, but it made her look beautiful all the same. What stood out to Davy was her light blue tank top underneath her white sweater. The blue color resinated off her, declaring she was of no harm to him. "May I sit here?" She asked him.

"Sure," Davy said absently, scooting over to let her sit. "Are you waiting for someone?"

The woman shrugged. "My grandfather, he's in the restroom," She paused for a moment, debating on continuing their menial small talk. "Are you okay?"

"Why do you ask?" Davy asked, confused. Did he really look as bad as he felt?

"You look unhappy, sitting here. It looked kind of like you were pondering life," The woman admitted, tucking a stray hair behind her ear.

"You're right, there," Davy confessed, looking back out into the crowd of people. "I…" He stopped himself. "I shouldn't bother you with my problems."

"You can talk to me, if you like," The blonde proposed. "It's not like we'll ever see each other again."

Davy shook his head, not looking back at her. "It's not worth your time. You don't even know my name."

"What is your name?" She immediately asked.

Davy took in a sharp breath. "David, what's yours?"

She laughed at that. "Saint, but I prefer to go by my last name."

He finally turned back to her. "Your parents named you Saint?" Davy asked, bewildered.

"It was the eighties, that's all I can say in their defense." The girl laughed, acknowledging her crazy name. "You can call me Matthew."

"So your name is Saint Matthew?" Davy asked. "Were your parents _expecting_ a boy?"

"More like expecting the Pope, if you ask me," Matthew laughed. "I got teased in elementary school for being a teacher's pet, or being the "saint" of the class, so I decided to go by my last name."

"Well, you don't look like a Matthew to me, but you certainly are a saint," Davy flirted, his lingering depression subsiding.

Matthew blushed, unconsciously tucking her hair behind her ear again. "Thanks, David," She giggled. Suddenly, Matthew leaned in, placing a shy kiss on Davy's lips. She recoiled quickly, turning away. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to do that."

"No, no, no," Davy said suddenly. "It's okay. I liked it."

"You did?" Matthew turned back, her blue eyes glowing with praise.

"Yeah," Davy smiled. "How about another one?" This time he leaned in and kissed her. When he leaned back, she laughed.

"Oh David," She laughed. She stood suddenly, "Would you like to go for a walk with me?"

"Yes," Davy said unconsciously, standing. He suddenly felt something hit his heel. For the moment, he ignored it. "Where will we go?"

"I was thinking about goin' down the river."

"There's a river in the airport?" Davy asked. People in 2016 were weird.

"No, but there is one nearby, just a mile or two away. I was thinking we could go there and talk."

Davy's mind screamed for him to stop. He shouldn't leave the airport. "Sounds great," He said. What was he doing? He had to stay here with Mike, **Micky,** and **Peter.** Without reason, he turned around, reaching down for his bag.

"You can leave that here, we'll be right back, I promise," Matthew said quickly as Davy opened his bag to check to see if everything was inside. He suppressed the urge to flinch as the book poked him. When he determined everything was inside, he zipped it back up and threw one strap over a shoulder.

"Oh David," Matthew suddenly said, stepping closer to him. She was still taller than him, but not by much. She smiled down at him, a hand gently gliding over his backpack strap. "Why don't you just leave that here? We'll come back for it, I _swear._ " She gently pushed the backpack off his shoulder, both of them letting it fall to the floor.

"Okay…" Davy said, lost in her eyes. When the backpack hit the floor, Matthew smiled. "Alright David, then let's go!" She giggled, taking his hand and running. Davy laughed, following her. He wasn't sure why, though.

* * *

"Davy?" Mike called out. He had gotten entangled in a group of college students rushing towards the luggage claim, and in that time he had lost sight of Davy. He didn't care about 'giving Davy space,' anymore, but just that he needed to find him. He wasn't really sure where he was now, but that didn't matter. He needed to find Davy. Mike continued to wander, hoping the Englishman would appear on his own. "Davy, where are you?!"

That's when he saw it. Lying haphazardly on the floor, Davy's bag stuck out to Mike like a sore thumb. Trying to avoid as many people as he could, Mike zig-zagged towards the bag, snatching it from the floor. He sat down on the bench it was near and opened it, checking the contents. The book was still there. Mike was worried. Davy wouldn't leave this book unattended like this. He didn't treat any book that way. Something bad must have happened for Davy to leave the book alone. Reminding himself that the book recorded everything Davy knew, he quickly pulled the book from the bag and opened it, flipping to the last written page, but skimming backwards to a starting point.

 _It was all too much. I sat down on a bench near the bathrooms to gather my thoughts. I couldn't believe I had just met my future wife. Well, I could believe it, but it didn't feel right. She saw through me rather than at me._

 _A young blonde then came to me. She smiled down at me and asked if I was okay. We made small talk before revealing our names. I told her my name was David, assuming Davy was not a common nickname in 2016. She said her name was Saint Matthew. She insisted I call her Matthew, though. That's when she kissed me. Immediately she apologized, but I liked it. Her soft lips felt cool and exciting against mine. I told her that it was okay, then I kissed her. However, after that, I don't know what happened. It was as if there was a split between my body and mind. I wasn't really aware of this until I started to do things I didn't want to. I knew I had to stay in the airport, I knew I had to, but when Saint Matthew asked to go for a walk, I agreed against my desire. I wanted to say no. I really did. That's not what came out, though. Next thing I knew, I was asking where we would go. She said we would be "goin' down the river." Going down the river? Did she mean "going down by the river?"_

That's where it ended. Panicked, he threw the book back into Davy's bag and began to run. He needed to get back to **Micky** and **Peter.** This was not good at all.


	18. Chapter 18- The River

Chapter 18- The River

 ** _Author's Note:_** _ **This is another interactive chapter! You'll only need YouTube up for one thing, though, but just be ready for that! Enjoy!**_

 ** _Oh, also, I don't own Google Maps or any locations mentioned in this chapter, if locations are a thing I can't claim._**

* * *

"Micky! Peter!" Mike yelled, spotting the statue and running full speed towards it. "Micky! Peter!"

"Mike?" **Micky** asked, standing and turning around to see Mike running at them. "Mike, what's wrong?"

"Davy's gone!" Mike yelled, skidding to a halt.

"What do you mean, he's gone?" **Peter** asked, putting away his cell phone and standing.

"I lost him," Mike started, opening the backpack he held in his hands.

"Well, we figured that when you said, 'Davy's gone,'" **Micky** deadpanned.

"Ha, ha, ha, Dolenz. Very funny," Mike mocked him, pulling out the book and flipping to the last page. He read the entry out loud to the two old men, trying his best to keep his hands from shaking. When he finished, he slammed the book shut.

"This isn't good," **Micky** breathed, taking off his fedora to scratch his head.

 **Peter** starred at the book a moment, not making a comment. Mike frowned as he put the book back into the bag. "You said her name was Saint Matthew?" **Peter** asked when Mike was done.

"Yeah, does that mean anything?" Mike asked.

"She calls herself St. Matthew," **Peter** said quietly, still staring at the bag.

"When she is on the run," **Micky** finished the lyric. "You don't think…"

"Nothing's a coincidence anymore, Mick," **Peter** breathed.

"What does her name have to do with anything?" Mike asked. "We need to find them! They could be in trouble!"

"Davy's in trouble," **Peter** said, his eyes focusing back in on Mike. "And by hell that girl will be too when I get my hands on her!"

"What?" Mike asked. He interpreted the situation as Davy just ran off with a girl. He didn't see the girl as a threat, only as a distraction. Peter and Micky were making this out to be scarier than he wanted it to be.

"It's a song, Mike," **Micky** explained. "One of yours, to be exact." **Micky** quickly pulled out his phone and opened the app for YouTube. He searched for the song.

 **#St. Matthew (Prev. Unissued Alternate Mix) #The Monkees-Topic**

"I wrote that?" Mike asked when the song finished.

"You did," **Micky** confirmed. "So I'm pretty sure it's a bad thing that her name is St. Matthew."

"She stoops down to gather partly shattered men," **Peter** recited. "Sounds a bit like Davy, if you ask me."

"And I have a bad feeling that "when it's over, it will start again," might mean that when she's done with Davy, she'll come for one of you three next," **Micky** added.

"When she's done with Davy?" Mike asked. "I get that runnin' off was not a good idea, but what can she do to him?"

"You missed the other hit, didn't you kid?" **Peter** asked, giving Micky a side look. "Open up that book of yours and read it again."

Mike did as he was told, opening the book and skimming through it. He then read, " _I knew I had to stay in the airport, I knew I had to, but when Saint Matthew asked to go for a walk, I agreed against my desire. I wanted to say no. I really did. That's not what came out, though. Next thing I knew, I was asking where we would go. She said we would be "goin' down the river…_ Uh oh."

 **Micky** beamed a little, clearing his throat and taking a deep breath before singing, "Floatin' down the river with a saturated liver and I wish I could forgive her, but I do believe she meant it when she told me to forget it and I bet she will regret it when they find me in the morning wet and drowned, and the word gets 'round. Bum bum, goin' down."

"We need to save him," Mike said quickly.

"Already working on it," **Peter** said, looking down at his phone, looking at Google Maps.

"I'll call Mike," **Micky** offered, pulling his phone out as well. "Mike's going to need back up, and there is no way I'm walking to the nearest river, let alone running. My hip would kill me for that." **Micky** put the phone up to his ear and waited for someone to answer. "Hello? Mike? Hey man, we have some big trouble on our hands… Yeah, they did. Davy's gone running off with a girl… No, it's not uncommon, but it is when her name is… you know what? Never mind the details. Have Jessica drop off little Micky and little Peter at the river closest to the airport… Which one is that? Uh… Peter?"

 **Peter** didn't reply, his eyes glued to the phone. After **Micky** repeated his name, he looked up and answered. "The River Thames. That's the closest river."

"Damnit, Pete, that sucker almost crosses the entire country," **Micky** retorted.

"Well it's either the Thames or the Gallions Point Marina, which is not a river at all," **Peter** retorted angrily.

"Why don't we split up?"

"There's only three of you," **Micky** pointed out.

"No," Mike said. "There's eight of us. Micky, Peter, and I can search on foot while all you old people search by car. You'll cover more ground that way."

"He's got a point," **Peter** defended.

"You two wait here for Jessica to pick you up, and I'll start heading out. I'll go back to where Davy was and try and follow in their footsteps." Mike dropped Davy's bag at his feet, as well as his own, which as still on his back.

"Hey, where's your hat?" Micky asked, still on the phone with **Mike** , but asking Mike.

"Me?" Mike asked.

"No not you, the little you," **Micky** said to **Mike** over the phone. He then turned his attention to Mike. "You, yes. Put that thing on. It will help us spot you if you happen to find Davy."

"And take this," **Peter** said, handing him his cell phone. "Press this button and swipe. The map should come up right away. Call us if and when you find him."

"How do I call you?!" Mike asked, looking at the piece of technology, overwhelmed.

 **Peter** explained to Mike how the cell phone worked while **Micky** continued to talk with **Mike**. "Where are you dropping them off? Near the Greenwich Golf Range? Alright, we're sending Mike off now. Send them towards the airport. After you pick us up will drive the opposite direction. Yep. See you soon, bye."

"You ready for this, Mike?" **Peter** asked, finally handing the phone back to Mike.

"As ready as I'll ever be, I guess," Mike awkwardly put his wool hat on his head. "Will you two be alright?"

"We'll be fine, Mike," **Micky** said with a smile. "Go find Davy."

Mike gave the two old men a sideways smile before turning and running off into the depths of the airport.

* * *

"It's been forever since I've been here," Davy said in awe. Matthew quickly took his hand in hers, smiling.

"Oh yeah? You sound British, I would have thought you lived here and saw the Thames everyday."

Davy shook his head. "I actually flew in from the States for a visit."

"Well then," Matthew laughed. "Let's get a closer look then, shall we?" She gripped Davy's hand tightly, pulling him off the road and down onto the steep grass down towards the roaring river. Davy couldn't help but laugh. He wouldn't admit it to anyone, but he was enjoying himself despite knowing that he should not have left the airport.

"Where are we, anyways?" Davy asked when they reached the riverside.

"Royal Victoria Gardens, I think," Matthew said, looking back at the park behind them. She turned back to Davy. "Davy, I'm having such a good time."

"I am, too," he told her. They both sat down, watching the river flow. The dark, murky water splashed up onto the grass every now and again, mesmerizing Davy.

"Where are you from?"

"What?" Davy was shaken from the water. He looked up at Matthew. "Where am I from?"

"Yeah. You said you were from the States, but you have a British accent," Matthew pointed out.

"Yeah, well, I grew up in Manchester," Davy said, looking back out at the River Thames. "I moved to the States when I was young, though. California, actually. As far from England as you could get."

"Why would you want to move there?" Matthew asked, sliding closer to Davy.

Davy shrugged. "That's where it was at, I guess. I wanted to work in show business. To do that, I guess I felt I needed to live in California."

"Why didn't you just stay here?" Matthew asked again. "They have plenty of show business opportunities here. Frankly, we need all the actors we can get. You always see the same nine in every show here. Sometimes we just end up stealing some from Scotland."

"What are you talking about?" Davy asked.

"Oh, nothing, I'm just kind of rambling," Matthew said, looking out at the river.

"What about you?" Davy suddenly asked.

"Where am I from?" Matthew asked.

"Yeah," Davy replied, looking her in the eyes.

Matthew quickly turned away. "I'm from everywhere, you could say. Always traveling. That's me. I honestly couldn't tell you where I was born. My parents were always moving, and when I was old enough to move out, I was always moving."

"What kind of life is that?" Davy asked, moving closer to her. When he did so, she stood. Davy quickly followed.

"Not much of one, I guess," Matthew said. She placed her hands on his shoulders with a tight grip, looking him in the eyes. "Look Davy," she smiled a bit, her eyes now moving around. "I love you, alright? You're sweet, you're gentle, you're kind."

"Thanks," Davy smiled back. "You are, too."

"You really think so, don't you?" Matthew gave Davy a kiss on the cheek. "Oh Davy Jones…"

"W-what?" Davy suddenly asked.

"Davy Jones," Matthew emphasised, her voice suddenly changing. It had gone from its sweet, light medley of words to dark, suspicious venom. "You could never resist a woman."

Davy tried to move, but her grip was too strong. However, in the blink of an eye, Matthew was gone, changed. Now holding him was a man. The familiar face looked back at him with evil lurking behinds its eyes. Davy quickly recognized the man as the one from the airport who was with that lovely bird he met. Mike had sworn this was the same man from the restaurant who drugged up his food. "W-who are you?" Davy asked, trying to break free.

"Oh Davy Jones," The man said viciously. "I'm the one who is here to take care of some unfinished business."

"What did I do to you?!" Davy asked, his voice threatening to crack.

The man brought Davy in closer, their faces inches apart. "In 2016, Davy Jones is supposed to be dead." Davy flinched when the man's spit splattered over his face. "So I'm going to make sure that in 2016, Davy Jones stays dead."

Suddenly his felt himself falling. There was a splash, and Davy suddenly found himself trying to catch a breath. Trying to stay afloat. He was being dragged along, sinking into the river. He struggled against the current, but it was no use. As his world spiraled into black, all he could here were words. Faint, familiar words.

 _Floatin' down the river with a saturated liver_

 _And I wish I could forgive her_

 _But I do believe she meant it_

 _When she told me to forget it_

 _And I bet she will regret it_

 _When they find me in the morning wet and drowned_

 _And the word gets 'round_

 _Goin' down_


	19. Chapter 19- The Rescue

Chapter 19- The Rescue

"Davy?!" Mike screamed, running. He ran, screamed, and looked down at the phone he held in front of him, trying his hardest to follow the arrow pointing him in the direction of the River Thames. He continue to call out for the small Englishman, nearly getting hit by a car once or twice when crossing the street. He hoped he was going the right way, for Davy's sake.

When the River Thames came into view, Mike nearly threw up. The green, murky water flowed naturally as water would, but it was as if a scaly, disgusting monster flowed within it, contaminating the water. It looked toxic. However, he continue onward, deciding to run in one direction when he reached the riverside. Two people quickly came into view. Mike ran as fast as he could. Maybe they saw Davy. As he got closer, details came into view. One person, a man it seemed, looked over a shorter man, holding him by the shoulders. Mike quickly realized the shorter man was Davy. He recognized the shirt Davy had been wearing for the last few days. The taller man noticed Mike before Davy did.

As if in a moment of panic, the taller man swung Davy by the shoulders, throwing him into the River Thames. Mike screamed, running with all his might. However, in the blink of an eye, the man who threw Davy in disappeared, leaving Mike to try and save the Englishman. Mike ran till he spotted Davy, who now floated dead in the water. Mike's heart was racing. He cried out his name, but Davy didn't answer. Without a second thought, Mike threw **Peter's** phone to the ground and jumped in, determined to save his friend.

He couldn't see a damn thing. He tried to recall all of his swimming experience from back in Texas, where he learned to swim in the lakes with his cousins. The water was too brown and green to see anything. Quickly he swam to the surface, searching for any evidence of the man's body. He saw him floating away with the current. Mike quickly swam after him. When he reached him, he grabbed onto Davy's arm and yanked him to the side, his adrenaline quickly depleting. He honestly wasn't sure if he could get Davy to land without giving up his strength to the waves. Water filled his lungs as he struggled to keep Davy above the current.

"Mike!" A familiar voice cried out. Mike looked up, seeing Micky and Peter running towards him.

"Help!" Mike cried out, a small amount of power finding him. He pushed Davy towards the shore, where Micky and Peter reached out to grab him, pulling him up onto the shore. Micky then reached out for Mike, who grabbed his hand and tried his best to help Micky pull him to shore as well. Micky yanked the young Texan out of the water, patting his back to help get water out of his lungs. Peter fruitlessly began to perform CPR on Davy. When Mike caught his breath, he crawled towards Davy and Peter. Micky didn't bother to stand, crawling along with Mike.

"You're doin' it wrong," Mike breathed. The natural action of oxygen intake was still hard for him. It felt like he has just swallowed the ocean. "Here, let me," Peter moved back and allowed Mike to perform CPR on Davy.

"Oh man," Micky mumbled. "Davy, come on, wake up!"

After several minutes, Mike gripped the ground beside Davy, trying to catch his breath. He was also trying to keep his cool. Why wasn't he waking up? He was trying so hard. "Davy…" Mike mumbled, "Wake up!"

Peter stood, grabbing Mike by the shoulders and moving him aside. Micky crawled over and began mimicking the actions Mike took to perform CPR.

"Twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-" Micky counted to himself. However, before he could reach thirty, the victim coughed, water spewing from his mouth. "Davy!" Micky screamed, setting him up and helping him cough up all the water.

"You did it!" Peter exclaimed. He kneeled down, ready to engulf Davy in a hug when he was ready for it. Mike laughed in relief, flopping down onto his back, letting that adrenaline subside. Davy sat there, trying his hardest to breathe. Every other breath felt forced, and more often than not water would travel up his throat and out of his mouth.

"You're alright, babe, we got you," Micky said, continuing to pat Davy on the back.

Peter looked over to see Mike still lying there, eyes closed. "Mike, you alright?"

"Yeah," Mike croaked. "Just tired, is all."

Peter shook his head, getting up and walking around to Mike. He tapped his shoulder, then guided him upright, both crawling over to Davy. Mike tried his best to stay awake, though he laid his head on Peter's shoulder as the others spoke.

"W-what… I…" Davy sputtered after continuous minutes of coughing and spitting up water.

"It's okay, Davy," Micky said reassuringly. "You're safe now. Mike saved you."

"I… she… he…" Davy closed his eyes, shaking his head. He brought his arms up around him and began shivering. Micky wrapped an arm around him to try and give him some warmth.

"It's over now, babe, that's what matters," Peter said.

Davy looked over at Peter, panic rising inside him at the site of Mike. Mike looked up at him and gave him a half-hearted smile. He too was now wrapping his arms around him to signal that he was cold. "I'm okay, Tiny. I promise."

"One of us should wave down Jessica and the others," Micky suggested. He released his hold on Davy and stood, looking up towards hill that eventually lead to the road. "I'll be right back. Don't go anywhere!"

"We'll try not, Mick," Mike said sarcastically, sitting up and maneuvering himself so he could lay on Davy instead. "We'll stay right here."

All four of them smiled. Micky then turned and ran up the hill, pulling **Mike** 's cell phone from his pocket. When he reached the top of the hill, he called **Micky** 's phone.

* * *

Jessica had arrived after dropping the elder Monkees off at her house. They hid Davy in the back seat as she drove them back to her house. Once there, Micky and Peter helped **Micky** , **Peter** , and **Mike** bring in luggage while Mike and Davy showered and changed into some spare clothes **Mike** and **Micky** had offered them. After the luggage was brought in and placed in their respective guest bedrooms, Jessica made refreshments while the three elders and now two young Monkees talked in the living room. **Micky** and **Peter** told their half of the story to their counterparts while Micky and Peter then told the old Monkees what happened once they arrived on the scene. From the kitchen Jessica silently listened. She analyzed them, so to speak. She wasn't sure if she believed them, but she was willing to do anything for her old friends. That Davy, he was convincing. In the moment, Jessica could have sworn it was him, but her logic told her otherwise when she was driving **Mike** back to her house with the young Micky and Peter. It couldn't be them, could it? The resemblance was uncanny, but time travel was _not_ possible. Absolutely not. Yet, she couldn't help be feel attached to these young kids who had just saved Davy from certain death. Maybe they were the real deal… She had not met Davy till after he left the Monkees, but she had, obviously, met the others when they began touring more recently. Was it real? Were there two sets of Monkees?

Jessica entered the living room with cheese and crackers, setting it on the coffee table in front of them all. She sat herself down on the armrest of the couch that **Mike** and **Micky** sat on. "So," She began, "Mind filling me in on what your plans are, and why they involve my husband's grave?"

Micky cleared his throat and stood before her. "Well, you see Mrs. Jones, we're from 1966, so we don't exactly belong here. From what we understand, there is a book that Peter there owns that we're supposed to burn in Davy's ashes."

Jessica cocked an eyebrow and turned to the old Monkee for clarification. **Peter** smiled a little and explained, "Davy gave me this book a few years back. It is full of fascinating stories and tales about us, the Monkees. Ironically enough it ends with him giving the book to me."

"What book is it?"

"There's not really a title, but he had it for one hell of a long time," **Peter** reached down and withdrew the ratty-old book from his backpack. He held it up to Jessica, who walked over and took it from him. She analyzed it for a moment.

"I recognize this book," She said after opening it. "He wouldn't let me donate it for the longest time. He never told me he gave it to you. I was wondering where it had gone to…"

"What's fascinating is that Davy, our Davy," Peter added. "Has that exact same book, except not as full. Apparently it pricks him or something everytime he touches it and it records everything that has happened since he last touched it."

"It's also newer," Micky added.

"Well duh," Peter rolled his eyes. "They are exact copies of each other, except for what hasn't happened yet."

Jessica flipped through pages till they wouldn't turn anymore. She tugged at it a bit till **Peter** told her not to bother. He explained that it might be some temporal time circumstance where they can't explore that far because it hasn't happened or that it is because it is in the presence of the other book. Jessica sighed and handed it back to **Peter.** "So you're supposed to burn that thing?"

"Well, technically it says to return it to its original owner," Micky explained, "Which is Davy, but through a series of events we've discovered that that involves burning the book with his ashes."

"Great," Jessica said sarcastically, rolling her eyes. "So you want to dig up my husband's urn and have a bonfire with it."

"Now Jessica we didn't say that," **Mike** countered, "We just need to dig it up to burn a book. Then we'll return it back into the ground where it belongs."

Jessica crossed her arms. "I don't like the sound of this one bit."

"Jessica, please," **Micky** stood, placing a hand on her shoulder. "Help us. We're begging you. We want your permission, so we can send these kids home. That's all this is. We're trying to help four young, foolish kids home where they belong. You cannot deny them that, can you?"

Jessica turned to the two young Monkees, who quickly put on desperate, puppy faces. She thought for a moment, then sighed, turning back to **Micky**. "When do you plan on doing this little charade of yours?"

"Today, preferably," Micky piped in. "We don't want to lose Davy to some wack again."

Jessica sighed again. She didn't like this one bit, but if they believed it would help them get home, she had to accept the fact. **Davy** would have sided with them, anyways.

"Speaking of which, they've been the shower for a hell of a long time," **Mike** commented, standing. They all followed him through the house. He stopped in front of Jessica's bedroom, where Davy was supposedly showering. They did not hear water running, nor did they really hear anything. "Davy?" Mike asked, knocking on the door. No answer. His heart skipped a beat. Everyone's did.

Slowly, he turned the doorknob and opened the door. He looked inside, relief flooding him. He turned back to the others, "He's just sleeping." He opened the door farther for them all to see Davy curled up in Jessica's bed, fast asleep.

"I assume Mike might be doing the same," **Micky** whispered, turning and walking further down the hall to **Mike's** guest bedroom. He silently opened that door, poked his head in, then pulled it out and shut the door. "Yep, he's in there."

"Maybe we should wait till tomorrow," Jessica whispered.

"Good idea," **Mike** confirmed, slowly shutting the bedroom door, leaving Davy to sleep in peace. The group then left the hall, leaving the two Monkees to rest. The chaos was almost over now, and they knew Davy would need as much rest as he could get for what was to come.


	20. Chapter 20- The Daydream Believer

Chapter 20- The Daydream Believer

 _ **Author's Note: The other day I listened to this podcast by Mike Rowe when he told a story of "the Manchester Cowboy," and that gave me inspiration to write this chapter. I was going to try and end the story with 20 chapters, but that's not gonna happen. We're getting close to the end of this first book, though! When I talk about Mr. Foster, yes he was a real person from what I understand, but the story about him isn't 100% true, but that's because I needed it to fit within the background of the Monkees characters inside in the television show. Please got listen to the actual podcast though, it is fantastic! Just google Mike Rowe The Manchester Cowboy and it should be the first thing to come up. Anyway, don't own Mr. Foster exactly, don't own the Monkees, but anything original I can take credit for. Sorry for such a long note, enjoy the story!**_

* * *

Dreams. Never ending dreams. He knew _this_ was a dream. There was yelling, screaming. Hate. Everything was more or less a blur. Shades of grey and tan rumbled about, yelling at each other. He had to get out of there. When he managed to find the door, he darted out of the room, being followed by someone, Micky maybe, yelling his name. In the distance he could hear Peter as well, but he was yelling for Mike.

Davy felt a hand touch his shoulder. Well aware that it was Micky, Davy shoved it off.

"He didn't mean it, I swear," Micky promised. "Just come back."

"I need some time to think," Davy confessed. Think about what? He felt angry, but had no rhyme or reason as to why he was angry.

"Davy," Micky moaned. Davy pushed the man away and darted off, feeling the need to be alone. There was a mess of corridors. Davy felt like he was walking in circles, through the endless corridors. All empty. Rage bubbled inside his brain, though he couldn't confess as to why he felt so angry. Something, _someone,_ made him this way.

After a while he found an exit. The grey walls and tension were depressing him. He pushed the door open and was blinded by a light. When everything relaxed into focus, he saw a crosswalk. Great. He stepped out onto the crosswalk, his head towards his feet, ignoring all other distractions. He then heard screaming. Three screams, all saying the same thing. _Stop._

Davy woke up with a yelp, the sound of tires screeching still ringing in his ears. What the heck was that dream for? He took a few deep breaths. Then he forgot. The only thing that remained was the fierce tension of that grey room and the bright light that came before the impact. It even gave him a small headache. He felt like it had something to do with the book, the trials, but he couldn't really comprehend why. It felt so random. He quickly tried to dismiss it, focusing on the strange room before him.

Why was he here again? Oh yeah. He drowned. Then he didn't. This must be Jessica's bedroom, his old room. Well, rather, he future room. He rolled out of bed, springing to his feet. Across from the bed there was a dresser, framed photographs of Jessica, Davy, and their children. He had no idea who these people were, but he knew he would soon. He didn't know how soon, but soon. He pulled his eyes away from the photographs, a sudden discomfort overwhelming him. He had to get out of here. They were so close. They just had to focus.

A soft knock at the door made him jump out of his skin. "Yes?" He asked once he collected himself.

"Davy?" A woman's voice asked. The door slowly opened to reveal the old woman who was named Jessica. She gave him a small smile, shutting the door behind her. "Glad to see you're up now."

"Yeah," Davy said, avoiding eye contact. He ran a hand through his messy hair which dried in all directions.

"Is…" Jessica began, not making eye contact with Davy either. She looked at him, but everything else besides him, too. "Is everything alright? Are you okay, I mean?"

Davy sighed, glancing back at the photographs. "Should I be? I'm fifty years in the future."

"The boys told me about that phone call you made to your daughter, Sarah," Jessica smiled.

"That was before they told me I was dead," Davy defended himself. "I would have never done it otherwise."

"Well it was their fault for keeping it from you," Jessica gave a small chuckle. "Mike, Micky, and Peter never had a knack for thinking things through, anyway."

"Mike's pretty good about it, but when Micky leads the way, it's hard to keep track of what's right and what's wrong," Davy said, finally seeing her eyes. They were beautiful, encrypted with wisdom and age, but so beautiful.

Jessica met his eyes as well. "They're out playing a card game, if you want to join them."

"Are you okay?" Davy asked out of the blue. It was her eyes that gave it away.

Jessica sighed, stepping up to her young, dead husband. She studied him for a moment before speaking. "You're really him, aren't you? Sometimes I completely believe, but I feel like there is this constant sliver of doubt. It's too good to be true. Two Michaels, two Mickys, two Peters. One Davy Jones. Within the last twenty-four hours, those six men out there have confessed to me many things that I would have never believed otherwise. Is it all true?" She laughed and rolled her eyes, "Are there really two sets of Monkees playing Seven-Up in my living room?"

Davy laughed as well. "I'm afraid so. What have they told you?"

Jessica stepped closer to Davy. "Micky and Peter told me that you were all just playing at a gig, in 1966… Or was it 67?"

"66," Davy answered.

"Okay, and then you guys met with a gypsy who sent you into a coat closet in their studio."

"Yeah, that sounds about right," Davy smiled a little. No one was going to believe this back home. What's crazy is to think that it's only been a few days since we arrived here. Everything is happening so fast."

"What do you mean?" Jessica asked.

"Well, it feels like yesterday we had been trying to prove our worth to Mike, Micky, and Peter out there, and now we're so close to burning that book so we can go home."

"Yeah, but how is burning a book going to take you home?"

"I don't know," Davy admitted. "But if the gypsy could get us here, she'll find a way to get us back. I guess, ultimately, that's what these trials are. To get us home."

Jessica found the idea absolutely absurd. However, the look in Davy's eyes told her he believed in this gypsy with all his heart. She was his only chance of getting home, returning to a normal life. Sympathy overwhelmed her. She placed a hand on Davy's shoulder. "Well don't be too worried, sweetie. Mike, Micky, and Peter know what they're doing. They'll help the four of you get out of this."

Davy gave his future wife a half-hearted smile. Then, from the outside room, the could hear hell rising. Micky's voice echoed with every accusation and claim. Someone was trying to cheat.

"I know you're the one withholding that seven of hearts, Nesmith!"

* * *

Packing the car with eight people was like playing Tetris, the three old Monkees thought as Jessica tried her best to direct the chaos. Ultimately, Davy and Micky took to hiding in the trunk with the shovels while Peter found himself between **Micky** and **Peter,** Mike bent haphazardly about his feet. **Mike** sat in the passenger seat with Davy's books and Jessica in the driver's seat. When she got in the driver's seat, she turned the car on and sighed.

She looked at **Mike,** holding her hands to prevent their obvious shaking. "You're sure about this?" Despite her reassuring words to Davy last night, she was nowhere near comfortable with her husband's friends digging up his grave.

"As sure as they are," **Mike** said, nodding back towards the others. Peter, **Peter,** and **Micky** smiled innocently, all well aware of what they were about to do.

"Alright," Jessica said, turning back towards the front. "But I'm not going to watch. I… I can't believe I'm letting you do this."

"It is going to be okay, Jessica," **Micky** said from behind her. "Think of it this way, Davy knew this was going to happen, so he's basically waiting for it to happen."

"But he's-"

"We know, we're trying to help you feel better about it," **Micky** interrupted.

Jessica groaned. "Whatever you say," She began to pull out of her driveway and out onto the streets of London. The drive felt like a millennia, the young Monkees thought, stuck in their uncomfortable positions. **Micky** would try and lighten the mood with some singing or jokes, and sometimes it would work, but other times it would fall flat. His failure increased the closer they got to the site. To Peter's surprise, since he was the only young Monkee that could see out a window, they were pulling into a horse ranch. Over their heads they passed a sign that declared, 'Foster Horse Ranch. Since 1933'

"I should have known," **Peter** breathed when Jessica shut the car off.

"Sorry?" Peter asked.

"Davy has always been an avid fan of horses," **Micky** explained.

"This was the ranch where he grew up," **Mike** added.

"This is where his love for horses started," **Peter** added.

The sky was clear and the air was pure. The grass was a bright green and sprouted an occasional tree here and there. Vast valleys and meadows stretched on for miles. Small, dirt paths would slither through the grass, leading the perspective traveller to various obstacle courses, long since abandoned. When Jessica pulled into the parking lot of this memory of Davy's childhood, she could see the meadows clearly from behind the lonely registration building, connected to a rusty, old stable. Nature here was stimulating. It was impossible _not_ to notice the age and control it had over this old place. Yet they persisted, Jessica parking haphazardly in the long forgotten parking lot.

 **Mike** and Jessica got out first. **Mike** pulled his younger self from the feet of the three Monkees, and then they got out one by one. When they got out, they found Jessica, Micky, and Davy standing there, both Micky and Davy stretching to relieve the utter stiffness they felt in every part of their body. When Davy was satisfied, he finally got a good look at the place they were at. When he finally realized where he was, his breathing stopped. Jessica strolled over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"Are you alright?"

Davy shook his head a little bit. "W-what happened here?"

Mike, Micky, Peter, and their older counterparts looked on in uncomfortable sympathy and confusion. They had no emotional connection to this place, but Davy obviously did.

"Foster's grandson sold the place to the county back in '82. They never did anything to it, so it just began rotting away. He couldn't keep up with payments, I heard. When you passed away I got permission from the county to bury you up there a ways, on the property. I knew how much this place meant to you. We used to come here and have picnics while you would tell me stories about when you were training to be a jockey, or well, when you were "training" to be a jockey." She used air quotes for emphasis.

Mike stepped forward. "Davy, do you need a minute? We can head up without you," Mike felt selfish for implying that they would begin the process without him, but it looked like Davy needed a minute to really take it in. He had endured a lot, but this was the first time he saw the full effect of what time could do. The Monkees were one thing, but it was easy to not fully recognize that these people were actually the same people. You cannot replicate a place, or memories for that matter. Davy had a _lot_ of memories.

Davy took in a sharp breath and nodded. Jessica quickly pulled two shovels from the trunk, handing them to Micky and Peter. "See that trail? Follow it all the way up. At the end of it is a tree with a small plaque on it. That's where it is."

The three young men nodded, each passing Davy a small pat on the back and a few encouraging words before heading up the trail. The older Monkees stepped forward now, giving Davy the long, sad faces Davy was used to now, ever since the time Davy's grandfather tried to take him home to England.

"You be okay now, you hear?" **Mike** said softly.

"You can't give up on us now, we're really close," **Micky** added.

"We'll send one of them back down to get you once we've established our location and have begun digging," **Peter** finished, giving Davy a small pat on his shoulder. Davy gave a small smile and thanked them. **Mike, Micky,** and **Peter** each gave each other a sad look before turning their backs on Jessica and Davy, the only two people who really had any memories here. They walked away, leaving them alone.

With a big breath, Davy walked towards the registrar building, Jessica keeping her distance. He gripped the front door's handle, yanking on it till it gave way. He frowned as he tossed the door to the ground, stepping on it to enter the building. Vines and dirt were everywhere. Darkness crept in the corners where the natural light did not shine, but besides that, it was almost exactly as Davy had remembered it. Everything was in its proper place. He remembered coming in here on his first day, his heart set on being a jockey. He could see Mr. Foster's smiling face, lying to him as he guided the boy out to the stables to clean them. He smiled at the memory. He looked to see that on the shelves old books and binders were still there, old records from his childhood. He walked up to a shelf and pulled off a binder, opening up the dust-covered time capsule. He mindlessly flipped through the pages, not really reading anything. He only took in Mr. Foster's old handwriting. Another memory he held dear to his heart.

Mr. Foster was his mentor, back when he was a little lad. Without Mr. Foster, Davy certainly wouldn't be in 2016. Without Mr. Foster, Davy would have never met Mike, Micky, or Peter. Mr. Foster gave Davy the life he knew so well, and Davy didn't even come to Mr. Foster for that. Davy came to Foster Horse Ranch to learn how to ride. Even though he certainly did learn that, Mr. Foster also learned that Davy had an incredible singing voice. Davy didn't remember when Mr. Foster found out, but when he did, Davy certainly had his work cut out for him. Mr. Foster had him singing day and night, whether he be cleaning, riding, or walking. When Davy turned 18 Mr. Foster insisted he try his luck in the States with singing. Mr. Foster was the one who was able to convince Davy's grandfather to let him go. Mr. Foster was Davy's biggest fan, if anything. Only if he owned a record company instead of a horse ranch…

"Davy?" Jessica said from the doorway. Davy looked up from the familiar handwriting to show he was listening. "Are you alright?"

Davy shrugged, putting the binder back. "I think so, now," He smiled at the shelf of binders. "Tell me, what ever happened to Old Man Foster?"

"He put his life into this ranch. It became a big hit once you became famous. When he passed away, this was the best horse ranch in England. Everything went downhill once his grandson Tim took over. I figured it only right that you should remain here when you passed away. You loved this place so much."

"Well thank you, love," Davy said, now turning to her. He made her way back up to her and pecked her on the cheek.

"This has been rough on you, hasn't it?" Jessica asked involuntarily.

Davy turned his eyes away. "A bit. I mean, what else would you expect from a man who has literally seen everything he holds near and dear age fifty years?"

"Do you believe it?"

Davy shook his head a little bit. "Mike and Micky and Peter, they're great, you know? The old ones, I mean. Mine are great, too, but it feels like they've taken on characters of their own. They're not the ones I live with. I know consciously that they are, but I don't believe it yet."

"I think they all feel that way, Davy," Jessica said, leading him out of the office building. They began their walk up to the gravesite. Jessica didn't want to go up there, but she knew she couldn't leave him just yet.

"I'm sure," Davy watched his feet instead of the familiar surroundings that passed. "I still can't believe we're here, in 2016. It doesn't feel like it."

"Time travel is funny that way," Jessica assumed.

"Do I really marry you?" Davy asked, "In the future, I mean. Well, my future."

"Yeah," Jessica smiled to herself, remembering their wedding day. "Back in 1978."

"It takes me that long?" Davy asked.

"Well, we did go through a tiny bit of a divorce between 1980 and 1985, but besides that, yes. We did get back together, if you're curious."

"Well that's good. Can't imagine why I'd break it off with such a wonderful woman like you," Davy looked up at her to make sure she got the compliment.

"Don't get too attached, boy, you're about to go home soon," Jessica tried to joke. The two mingled aimlessly on their way up the the site, hoping to keep Davy's mind off the obvious fact that they were digging up his ashes to add more ashes to the mix. Jessica and Davy both knew the fact, but seeing it made it real. _Too_ real.


	21. Chapter 21- The Monkees

Chapter 21- The Monkees

 ** _Author's Note: This story has one interactive moment, in which YouTube is needed. Also do not own  
'Shades of Grey' or 'Daydream Believer.' Enjoy, and stay tuned for _Dream World: Book II! **

* * *

The trek up to the gravesite lasted maybe ten minutes for the three young Monkees. When reaching the top of the tall hill, they threw their shovels to the ground and took in the fantastic site. A cool breeze gave compliments to the strong oak tree that stood within the bluff, obviously far older and wiser than the other trees. Drilled into the middle of the trunk was a silver plaque. Mike was the only one daring enough to walk up to the plaque and read it out loud.

"David Thomas Jones, 1945 to 2012. Musician, Father, Legend. The Daydream Believer," Mike read. Peter and Micky stood at a distance, their discomfort obvious to the world. Were they really about to do this? It was hard to stomach that this was actually Davy's grave. Nothing seemed terribly real till this moment. Without Davy there, it really felt like Davy was dead. Too soon.

"Well, we might as well get started," Mike sighed, walking over and picking up one of the shovels.

"But where?" Micky asked.

"I'm going to take a guess and say they buried him right in front of the plaque, Mick. It's not rocket science," Mike struck the ground with the shovel, drawing the first scoop of dirt from the ground. Micky picked up the second shovel and did the same. Minutes later, the three old Monkees arrived. Seeing the two young men already beginning the job, they stood with Peter, waiting patiently.

Peter rubbed a hand behind his head. "Should we really be doing this?"

"If it gets you four home," **Micky** confessed. "None of us really thought this through, did we?"

"Not in the slightest," Peter added. "We should not have left Davy down there with Jessica. It… It feels…"

"Like he's already dead?" **Peter** asked, knowing the feeling all too well. His younger self nodded. "I know, kid. That plaque," He pointed to it for emphasis. "Is the final declaration of his death, of his passing. To see him and that plaque in one place is impossible."

"Till today," **Micky** pointed out. "Because any minute now he's gonna be coming up that hill and find us vandalizing his grave."

"In fairness, it was _his_ idea," **Peter** mentioned.

"And we're going along with it. We should have asked the gypsy if there was another way," Peter said. "Davy should have asked. Mike, you should have asked."

"What?" Mike yelled from where they were digging.

"Nothing Mike," Peter waved him off. "Keep digging."

"Aye, aye, captain!" Micky yelled from the hole.

"It reminds me of… Well, it's not important," **Peter** mumbled, looking over at Mike and Micky, who were now throwing dirt at each other, thanks to Micky's childish impulse.

"What?" Peter asked.

"It's not important," **Peter** repeated. "It happened a long time ago. We all got into this accident, you see, and well, we thought we were going to lose Davy."

"Well, in fairness, everyone thought we were a lost cause," **Mike** clarified. "We were all in the hospital for one hell of a long time."

"Right, but like I said, it's been long since over. It doesn't matter anymore. What matters is this," **Peter** said. He looked over at the two children throwing dirt at one another. "Hey you two!"

"Sorry Dad!" Micky yelled, throwing one more handful of dirt at Mike before going back to work. Mike hit him over the head before continuing to dig as well.

"Maybe I should go relieve one of them," Peter suggested. He turned and walked over to the developing hole, tapping Mike on the shoulder. After the two exchanged a few words, Mike handed his shovel over to Peter and climbed out of the whole. Peter hopped in and began digging. That's when Davy and Jessica arrived.

"Davy!" Mike yelped, hopping to his feet.

Seeing the Texan coated in a fine layer of dust startled the young Englishman. "What happened to you?"

"Micky," Mike deadpanned, pointing over at the two Monkees disappearing into the hole. "He got a bit excited with that dirt over there."

" _Micky!"_ They heard Peter whine. Everyone looked over to see Peter's face coated dirt and Micky laughing hysterically. Mike and Davy rolled their eyes, both going over and pulling Micky from the hole. Mike hopped in and picked up Micky's shovel, continuing the work that Micky was apparently incapable of doing. Davy dragged Micky back over to where the others were, leaving the job to two Monkees who were capable of doing the job right.

"How long do you think this is going to take?" Jessica asked, unconsciously twirling a strand of hair.

"No idea," **Micky** admitted. "Might have been quicker if we brought more shovels."

"Jessica, could you maybe run into town and get some water and lunch? Depending on how far down we have to dig, we might be here a while," **Mike** suggested.

"Good idea," Jessica agreed, glancing towards the hole forming at the foot of the tree. "I'll be back soon, don't do anything stupid."

"Isn't it too late for that?" **Micky** joked. Jessica rolled her eyes and began her trek back down the hill to her car.

"How long _do_ you think this is going to go on for?" Davy asked the group. They all looked at each other, waiting for _someone_ to reply. When they all remained silent, Davy sighed, sitting himself on the ground.

 **Mike** held out his book to him. Davy silently took it, still flinching slightly when his skin made contact with the leather cover. He sat it in his lap, flipping the book open to the most recent page. When this happened, the old book **Mike** held began to shake. **Mike** tried his best to hold the book, but soon it became too hard to hold. He dropped the book, it falling open onto the grassy ground. It violently flipped pages till it decided on a particular page. It looked different from the others Davy had seen. It's display was more elegant, more precise. That's when the book in his lap began to shake as well. Davy watched as his book began to write itself, copying the text from the older book. He watched the words write themselves, gliding across the page like water. The border melted around the text, as if a page out of a witch's spell book. The older men and Micky, obviously, watched over his shoulder.

When the page was complete, both books slammed shut. **Mike** picked up the older book, trying to open it. It would not budge.

"It won't open?" **Peter** asked the obvious.

"I think it's done," **Mike** commented, looking over the book. "It must be ready to be burned."

"That is one creepy book you have there, Davy," Micky said nervously.

Davy responded by opening the book that remained in his lap. He flipped to the new page and read, "As the book burned, the words of the Monkees echoed in the great valley, bringing light to their situation. All seven men sang the words they knew so well… Then it just has the lyrics to 'Shades of Grey.'"

"Does that mean we have to sing while we burn the book, too?" **Peter** asked.

"I think so," Davy replied, looking over at the mound of dirt that hid Peter and Mike from view. "Anything yet, guys?"

"Not yet!" Mike yelled from the hole. Davy sighed, gently shutting the book.

* * *

The digging continued for a while, the young Monkees switching out now and again to give the others rest. The older men insisted on helping, but the younger men refused. This was their trial, not theirs. They already did this once, according to reason. No way would they let the old men do it again. When noon hit, they still had not found the urn that was supposed to conceal the ashes of Davy Jones. The four young men were tired and had nearly given up.

At the time, it was Micky and Mike digging once again. Micky had agreed to behave this time. Jessica had come and gone with sandwiches and water, leaving to reside in the parking lot till they were done and her husband's ashes were replaced in the ground. Davy, Peter, **Peter, Micky,** and **Mike** were all playing Go Fish when they heard Micky scream from the ground.

"We've got it!" They heard him yell. They all scrambled to their feet and ran over to the hole, where Mike and Micky were digging at the ground with their hands, trying to free the urn. Mike dusted some dirt from the side of the urn, revealing Davy's name along it. Micky tugged at the urn, allowing the dirt to give way. Micky cradled the urn, both he and Mike dusting it further with their hands.

"I don't believe it…" Peter mumbled, watching in awe.

"That's…" Davy muttered, looking on as well.

"Hand it here!" **Micky** yelled, holding his arms out to the two men in the hole. Micky handed it up to the Monkee, who moved away so that Peter and Davy could help Micky and Mike out of the hole. When all were out, They moved to the other side of the tree and set the urn on some flat ground. **Micky** moved to open it, but then he didn't. He looked around to the others before backing away. The others looked at him, all thinking the same thing. None of them could do it. _Morally_ or emotionally. They all looked at Davy, pleading with their eyes. Don't make them do it. Davy sensed the message that all twelve eyes were giving him.

Nervously, he moved forward towards the urn. He sat in front of it first, taking it in. He then looked around, taking in the sky, the sun, and the clouds. In that moment, everything seemed so pure. So peaceful. He turned to **Mike,** holding out his hand. **Mike** handed him the book, as well as a box of matches. Davy took them and set them beside him. With a shaky hand, Davy gripped the lid of the urn, slowly lifting it away. He shifted to his knees, looking inside. All he saw was dust and ash. This wasn't him. It couldn't be. He pushed the idea aside and grabbed the old, tattered book.

"Guys…" Davy said, looking back and forth between the book and the urn. "I don't think this is going to fit."

"We'll make it fit," Mike said, moving beside him. He took the book from Davy, passing the Englishman a solemn glance before sticking one corner of the book into the urn. "We'll just have to tend to it, push it inwards as it burns. It will be okay, Davy. Here, hand me that matchbox."

Davy did as he was told, handing the matchbox to Mike. Mike took a match from the box and struck it against the side, lighting the match. He carefully maneuvered the flame to the book, laying the flame the the torn old pages between the covers. Once he was sure that it had caught fire, he set the match down on the book and backed up. They both backed up. The seven men formed a horseshoe around the urn, watching the book burn.

After a moment of silence, Davy sang to himself, "When the world and I were young, just yesterday. Life was such a simple game, a child could play."

"It was easy then to tell right from wrong. Easy then to tell weak from strong. When a man should stand and fight, or just go along," The other six sang.

"But today there is no day or night, today there is no dark or light. Today there is no black or white," All seven sang.

"Only shades of grey," Peter took over.

"I remember when the answers seemed so clear," **Peter** added.

"We had never lived with doubt or tasted fear," Peter replied.

"It was easy then to tell truth from lies," Everyone added. "Selling out from compromise. Who to love and who to hate. The foolish from the wise. But today there is no day or night. Today there is no dark or light. Today there is no black or white-"

The small flame that caressed the book exploded into a tall stalk of fire. The flames licked the branches of the tree above it. Heat blinded the seven men. They all jumped backed, surprised and nearly terrified at the spectacle before them. Their singing stopped and all they could see was orange fire. Davy, who sat across from the flame, stood, shielding his eyes. The others quickly followed, the younger Monkees helping their older counterparts stand. They all cowered together on one side of the flame while Davy stood his ground in front of it.

Davy could see something in the flame. He tried to look into the flames to see, but it was too hot. The figure among the fire began to take on more of a definite shape. Soon he could see flashes of white. The figure took on more of a human shape now, Davy recognizing that the white he saw was clothing. A sweater and white slacks. It stepped out of the fire and onto the pure, green grass.

Face to face they stood. Mike, Micky, Peter, and their counterparts dared not interfere. Not yet. Davy looked into the eyes of **Davy Jones** with disbelief. He looked into the eyes he had known all his life. They were his eyes. So old, yet so wise and familiar. He had seen this face before.

"And that's how you make an entrance," The old man laughed, looking his young self up and down. He smiled, running a hand through his grey bangs. Startled, Davy carefully reached a hand out towards him, wondering if this was real or a part of his imagination. He knew this man. He had seen him before. Davy was then reminded of his dream. The dream that had come to life. Davy gave the man a gentle shove. He was definitely solid.

"Davy?" **Micky** asked from where the others stood.

"How did this happen?" Davy asked, unsure what to think anymore.

"They gypsy," **Davy** said calmly, almost as a clever lie. "She gave you, well, _us_ that book many years ago. That book, more or less, is magical. Almost divine, if I do say so myself. For as long as that flame lives, so do I. When it dies, I will finally get to move on. When it dies, you will be able to move on."

"I won't die, will I?" Davy asked nervously.

 **Davy** laughed again. "Of course not. Not till 2012, at least. You've got plenty of time to live, mate." He placed a hand on the young Monkee's shoulder, that smile still plastered on his face. "I have waited forever for this. This, this is the real proof. This proves the gypsy's powers. _This is really happening."_

 **Davy** removed his hand and turned towards the six cowering Monkees. He gave each of his old friends a sad, heartfelt smile. "Hello fellas," He said. The ghost, or man, whatever he was, felt the same thing the other living Monkees did. They felt pain, but it was an unbelievable, emotional pain. They all tried holding back tears. They were grown men after all. **Micky, Mike,** and **Peter** all took a few steps away from their younger selves, reaching out towards **Davy.**

"Are you really…" **Mike** asked, not believing his eyes.

"As real as they are," **Davy** replied, gesturing towards the young Monkees.

They all smiled. Their smiles were sad, but the joy that was behind them shined through. **Micky,** naturally, was the first to wrap the man in a huge hug. **Peter** and finally **Mike** followed suit.

Micky sniffled from where he stood. Mike gave him a sideways glance. "I'm sorry, it's just so beautiful!" Micky choked, wiping tears from his eyes. Peter was doing the same.

"I've missed you guys," They heard **Davy** say from among the hug. That's when they disbanded, still close, though.

"How is this even possible?" **Mike** finally asked.

"I've got to take these kids to their next trial, more or less," **Davy** said, the old Monkees opening up their circle to the young Monkees. All four of them stepped in.

"How are you going to do that?" Davy asked.

 **Davy** wiped away a stray tear and said, "You came here by walkin' into that gypsy's tent. That's how you're gonna leave, too. However, you guys just _can't_ walk in there and expect to be transported back. Someone needs to open the portal for you. If I remember right, there was someone with this job for all three trials. Keep an eye out for them next time."

"Yeah, but we don't have a gypsy tent," Micky pointed out.

"You're right," **Davy** said, "But you do now." The old man pointed behind them. The seven turned to see a small white tent now pitched a little ways away from the gravesite. It had not been there before. When they all turned and gave **Davy** a questioning look, he simply replied, "The gypsy may have helped me with that little trick. Well, this whole thing really."

"Who is she?" Mike asked.

"You'll find out soon enough," **Davy** said. "But appreciate her. She's gone out of her way to help you. All of you. Without her, you all would be dead."

"Can you tell us?" **Mike** asked. "We don't remember this ever happening, and we would like to know. We would like to know everything."

"Wait till the boys have left," **Davy** admitted. "She'll come and talk to you once they have reached the second trial."

"Of course," **Micky** rolled his eyes.

The young Monkees glanced at the flame behind him. It was shrinking quickly. Quicker than they honestly hoped for. Mike grabbed a stray stick from the ground and poked at the flame, making sure the book would collapse inside the urn. He asked the group, "How long do you think this flame's got?"

"Another five minutes, I'd say," **Davy** said. "That means we better get a move on, huh?"

The three old Monkees could still feel their hearts in their throats. They didn't want to lose **Davy** again. **Peter** placed a hand on the old man's shoulder. "One last song, though? Before you all leave?"

"Yeah," **Micky** agreed. "I mean, this is the last time we will ever see any of you." He looked not only at the revived Monkee, but at the younger counterparts as well. Their hearts ached. This was really happening.

"Yeah, I'm down for that," Davy smiled. His older self, as well as the three other Monkees agreed. "What should we sing?"

"'Daydream Believer,'" **Micky** blurted out immediately. The young Monkees gave him an odd look. "After Davy died, I decided to always perform 'Daydream Believer' at my concerts in honor of him. To quote Mike, the song is no longer ours. It belongs to the fans now."

"It's only proper," **Mike** agreed. "To send you all out the right way."

 **Davy's** smile brightened. "Aww, thanks guys."

"Only for you," **Micky** replied, his smile as big as **Davy's.**

 **Peter** was getting out his cell phone to give them an backing track. He then looked at the two Davys, waiting for a queue.

"Well?" **Mike** said, gesturing towards Davy and **Davy.** "Let's get on with it!"

 **#The Monkees - "Daydream Believer" (Official Music Video) #The Monkees**

The two shared versus, the other six Monkees always coming in the chorus. Davy clung to his Monkees, the four of them romping around as they do. **Davy** also clung to his Monkees, the four of them romping around as they do. It was quite a sight. The words of 'Daydream Believer' rang throughout the ranch, making everything feel just a bit better. They romped around till the song died out, laughter complimenting them afterwards.

Davy glanced over at the fire which still burned the book. The book was nearly gone now, turned to dust and ash. He nudged Mike and pointed at the fire. Mike then repeated the action with Micky. Then Micky did the same to Peter.

"Ahem," Davy cleared his throat. "I think that fire is gettin' a bit low, don't you think?"

"It is, isn't it?" **Davy** replied, looking over at it.

"We can add some wood to it, don't you think?" **Micky** pleaded. **Mike** elbowed him in response.

"It's time then," **Davy** muttered, looking out to the tent that had been haunting them for the past several minutes.

"Time to go?" Davy asked.

Without acknowledging the question, **Davy** began to walk toward the tent. They all followed closely behind. When they reached the tent, **Davy** grabbed the tent flap and opened it, revealing a dark, empty tent.

"Davy," **Peter** blurted. "Don't go…"

 **Davy** hung his head. This was as hard for him as it was for them. Though it had been maybe ten minutes, it was a life changing ten minutes. Not only for the Monkees, but **Davy** as well. "I don't want to," He admitted. He turned towards his old friends now, looking them all dead in the eye. "But I have to. I'm not even supposed to be here."

The three old Monkees walked up to the tent, surrounding the youngest of them. "Then this is our last chance to say goodbye," **Mike** replied.

"Yeah, goodbye," **Davy** frowned. No one ever liked goodbyes.

"Hey, we'll see you around, though. It's not like we have many years left ourselves," **Micky** pointed out, trying to lighten the mood somewhat.

 **Davy** shook his head. Oh Micky. He never changes. The three old Monkees trapped the youngest in a hug once more. This time to say goodbye. Mike, Micky, and Peter all kept a hand on Davy, them all dreading the day they would become them. Davy simply looked on, his entire life replaying in his mind. Him deciding how to get here. How to get here, with _them,_ when it was time.

The four Monkees let go of each other, one last time. "Goodbye mates," **Davy** choked.

"You'll always be our Manchester Cowboy," **Micky** said. "And remember, we're makin' that album for you, and you alone."

"We'll never stop thinking about you," **Peter** added.

"Goodbye Davy," **Mike** finished.

"Goodbye," **Davy** said sadly. He turned to the young Monkees for a moment, then smiled. He turned back to the tent and opened the flap, disappearing as he walked inside the tent. Everyone looked over to see the flame die out under the tree. The book was burned. The gate was opened. It was time for the boys to go.

"Well, seems like it is our turn for goodbyes," Mike pointed out. The Monkees walked up to the Monkees, adjacent to their counterpart. "Thank you so much, all three of you. We could not have done this without you."

"Yeah, if you didn't help us, we would still be wandering around L.A, completely and utterly lost," Micky added.

"Well, your welfare is important to us," **Peter** pointed out. "Considering you become us, we had to help you. We didn't want any of you dying so that _we_ couldn't exist."

"Fair," Mike smiled. "But thank you, anyways."

"Be careful," **Micky** said. "God only knows what is waiting for you inside that tent."

"We will," Mike assured them.

"And Davy," **Peter** added. "Don't go running off on them and drowning again."

Davy gave a shy chuckle. "I'll try not to, sir."

"Goodbye kids," **Mike** said.

"Goodbye," Davy said. He looked at each old man in turn. Their hearts were torn in half. They already lost one Davy, their Davy. Now it was time to lose another. They hid it well.

Each Monkee said their goodbyes as they entered the tent. First Mike, then Micky, then Peter.

It was just Davy left. He turned to the old men once more. It pained him to see them this way. So old. So sad. So pained with the years on their shoulders. Davy gave them one last smile. "Goodbye mates," He said, as his older self did before him. "Goodbye." With his book in hand, he too opened the tent flap, stepping inside the tent. When the flap closed, everything around him swirled into darkness. He felt himself slipping from consciousness. Fatigue overtook him. Then he was out like a light.

* * *

 _ **Author's Note: Thank you for reading this story! This is officially the end of**_ **Dream World: Book I.** _ **Don't worry, though! There are still 2 more books left to be written that will answer all of your questions! Thank you again for reading and see you in the next story!**_

 ** _Peace and Love,_**

 ** _TimeSpace64_**


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